in every universe (I choose you)
by The Crownless Queen
Summary: A collection or EdgarFabian meetcutes stories.
1. you knock me down (I fall apart)

Written for Hogwarts' February Meet Cute Marathon: I was watching that hot jogger while driving out of the neighbourhood but got distracted and crashed but i just woke up in a hospital room and said hot jogger is at my bedside because apparently they're the one who called the ambulance, Serpent Day: Boomslang - (word) wild, the 365 Prompts Challenge: Event - First Meet, the Insane House Challenge: Scenario - I was watching that hot jogger while driving out of the neighborhood but got distracted and crashed but i just woke up in a hospital room and said hot jogger is at my bedside because apparently they're the one who called the ambulance, the Writing Club - Showtime: I'm Not that Girl (reprise) - (word) wishing, Count Your Buttons: (word) dare, White Shirt Day - Write a fic featuring two Order members or more, Lyric Alley - And I'm on the ground, Restriction of the Month: Write a story wihout using any of the Hogwarts houses, (setting) Hogwarts, the Transfiguration Assignment: Write about a character developping a phobia.

 _Word count:_ 760

* * *

 **you knock me down (I fall apart)**

Edgar comes back to himself slowly. Everything aches and the air smells softly of that antiseptic smell he's come to associate with the Hospital Wing.

Not that he's been there a lot, but this smell is so distinctive he'd recognize it anywhere.

His head pounds painfully as he tries to remember how he ended up here, and he doesn't dare open his eyes just yet — he knows how white everything is, and his head is already hurting enough as it is. He has no wishes to inflinct more pain on himself, now or ever.

He was flying, he remembers. He's never been very good at it, but steady practice since his first year has seen him improve. He'll never be a Quidditch player, but at least he won't fall off (now that had been an embarrassing first lesson).

He was flying, and he wasn't _alone._

His eyes fly open, blindingly bright white walls be damned.

"Oh thank Merlin, you're okay! Mrs. Pomfrey, he's awake!"

Edgar turns his head slowly — very slowly — toward the speaker, heart pounding in his chest as he tries to convince himself that the one speaking isn't the one he thinks it is.

But it is.

Merlin, Edgar wishes he could melt into his mattress and never come out again. He can already feel his cheeks burning.

"Hi," he manages to croak out. The boy — even more gorgeous from up close than he'd been on his broom — smiles back at him. It is even more blinding than the room, and Edgar's poor heart skips a beat.

The boy has _freckles_. Edgar is doomed. _Doomed_.

It is, thankfully, all he manages to say before the nurse gets there.

"You've got a great friend in Mr. Prewett here, Mr. Bones," she tells him once she's told him his diagnostic — a couple broken bones that she's fixed already, and a concussion that she gives him a truly nasty potion for. "He carried you over here all by himself.

"We're not friends," Edgar blurts out at the same as the boy — _Prewett_ — replies in a high-pitched tone, "I didn't _carry him_ , I used a spell!"

Mrs. Pomfrey smiles at them knowingly. "You have a good boyfriend, then," she tells Edgar, before departing with one last nod.

Edgar makes a strangled noise. His cheeks have never been this red before, he's sure of it.

Somehow, he manages to make himself look at his rescuer.

"Well, thanks, I guess."

"You guess?" the boy replies, drawing up in mock offense. Chocolate brown eyes sparkle with mirth, and Edgar's stomach flops. "I saved your pretty little ass back there."

"Well I wouldn't have needed saving if you hadn't —" Edgar bites his tongue so hard he draws blood, flushing as he swallows back his next words.

"If I hadn't what?" Prewett's face only reads open curiosity, but Edgar doesn't trust it. He has a feeling this boy could make anyone believe anything if he wanted to.

 _If you hadn't distracted me with your everything_ , Edgar doesn't say. Instead, he merely mumbles an embarrassed "Nothing," wishing that can be the end of it.

It's not.

Prewett's eyes blaze with a wild fire that spreads a shiver down Edgar's back.

"I'm Fabian," he says.

"Edgar." It only seems fair to reply with his own name, after all.

Fabian only nods like everything makes sense. "Well, _Edgar_ ," he says, purring his name like a cat, "Since apparently we'd make a good couple, what do you say we give it a try?"

"You mean like go on a date?"

"Mmh-mmh," Fabian replies, nodding in agreement. "So, what do you say?"

It's too good to be true. "I — Yes. Yes, of course."

Fabian grins. "Perfect! You won't regret it. Any request for our date?"

At first, Edgar thinks about letting Fabian have free reign for the planning, since he asked, but something tells him that wouldn't be a good idea.

Also, a part of him still remembers the fall — this feeling of weightlessness, of flying untethered through the air, of being so sure he would die when he hit the ground — and dread pools in his stomach.

"No flying, please," he says, felling like he's chocking.

Fabian's grin eases into something gentler. "Sure — no flying. We can do that."

" _Thank you_ ," Edgar breathes out. Just the thought of _seeing_ a broom makes him shiver, he can't imagine how he'd deal with having to _fly_ one.

Fabian winks, cheerful again. "Anything for you, Edgar. Anything."


	2. heart in your hand

Written for Hogwarts' Meet Cute Marathon: I write a bad pick up line on your cup every time I'm your barista, the Scavenger Hunt: Write a slash pairing, the Wizarding Language Assignment: Task 3. Write about a different way of communicating, the Insane House Challenge: Job - Barista, Serpent Day: Snouted cobra - (object) fan, the Writing Club - Character Appreciation: Write about a man with red hair, Showtime: The Wizard and I - (word) Quirk, Lyric Alley: I'm a little bit nervous, Liza's Love: The Flirt - Write about a flirt, the 365 Prompts Challenge: AU - Cafe!AU.

 _Word count:_ 1260

* * *

 **heart in your hand**

 _The Gryffin's Corner_ has been there for as long as Edgar can remember, but for some reason, he's never entered. The place looks welcoming though, painted in warm reds and golds, but it's also right across from the Starbucks Edgar's always been to.

Except that today, that Starbucks is closed, and from the way the words 'health violation' are being thrown around, Edgar rather doubts it'll open up again anytime soon.

So, mind still half asleep, he wanders into _The Gryffin's Corner_ like two dozens of other sleep-deprived customers instead, letting the comforting aroma of warm coffee guide his feet forward to the counter.

He orders his usual drink, barely glancing up at the barista — not very polite, he knows, but law school is killing him, what with exams growing closer and closer — and he leaves, only keeping the imprint of red hair and a foxy grin burned into his mind.

It's not until he's drunk half of it that he notices the writing scribbled in black sharpie on the white cardboard.

On one side, there's his name, _Egdar_ , written in an elegant cursive. And on the other, in slightly smaller letters, Edgar can read, _You look ill. You must be suffering from a lack of Vitamin ME._

It's a terrible line, but it does put a smile on his face — at least until his first teacher gives them yet another assignment for next week and Edgar realizes he'll have to kiss sleep tonight goodbye. Again.

Well, at least he knows where to get good coffee now.

.

He forces himself to be a little more attentive the next morning, and sure enough, the barista's a redhead. He seems… different from what Edgar can recall of yesterday morning, but well, it's not like Edgar was _awake_ yesterday.

He spends the queue shifting nervously on his feet, eyes wandering to the fan turning slowly above their heads — it gives the place a nostalgic kind of atmosphere that Edgar really likes.

Once he gets to the counter, he puts in his order and clears his throat.

"Hi," he says, biting his lips, "sorry to bother you, but err, did you leave a message on my cup yesterday?"

The barista, tag reading _Gideon_ in stocky black letters, frowns in confusion. "I wasn't working yesterday," he replies with a shrug, handing a cup to the woman waiting next to Edgar. Gideon's eyes roam over his face and the confusion clears, replaced with an odd smirk. "You must have met my brother, Fabian," he explains. "Between us, I'm clearly the more handsome one." He winks, and Edgar blushes.

"Ah… I see," Edgar replies awkwardly, even though he doesn't actually see anything.

"I can tell him off for you if it bothered you," Gideon offers.

Edgar's cheeks burn again and he busies himself by looking down at the counter. It is surprisingly clean for a coffee shop counter, he notes.

"Ah… It's fine. I mean, I didn't mind. I mean, he can…" he trails off, only too aware of the way he's only digging himself into deeper embarrassment.

He's very relieved when his order comes up soon after that. He very pointedly doesn't check his cup until he's sure no one can see him doing it, but he can feel Gideon's amused eyes following him anyway.

And sure enough, the cup only shows his name this time.

.

The next morning, the tag reads _Fabian_. Edgar says hi, gets his order and leaves.

But as soon as he's outside, he hurries to check the cup for any new writing.

And there is something. It's another terrible line, but a different one. This one reads _Aside from being sexy, what do you do for a living?_ and like last time, it puts a smile on his face.

On Friday, his cup reads _Your shirt has to go, but you can stay._

Edgar looks down at his shirt, but there's nothing particularly bad about it. Granted, there also isn't anything _great_ about it either.

The next Monday, Edgar gets _Smile. It is the second best thing you can do with your lips._ That one makes him snort out his coffee through his nose, which hurts — even if it does wake him up.

He stares at Fabian pointedly as he scribbles his next line on the cup on Wednesday, and Fabian winks as he hands it to him.

This line is dirty enough to startle him into nearly dropping his drink.

"Problem?" Fabian asks him, brown eyes sparkling with mirth.

Edgar stares back pointedly, heart pounding in his chest. "Not at all," he says, giving Fabian his widest smile as he draws the cup to his chest.

On Thursday, Gideon is back in his brother's place. He pauses in his usual laidback demeanor long enough to smile creepily at Edgar, telling him, "I hope you know what you're doing," as he hands him his drink.

Somehow, Edgar gets the impression that Gideon would throw that hot drink right into his face if he didn't like Edgar's answer.

"I do," Edgar replies, and it's only mostly a lie.

Gideon sighs and scribbles something out onto a napkin with a tired, exasperated sigh.

He slides it forward, another bad line visible on it. "From Fabian," he explains.

Edgar snorts but tucks the napkin into his pocket carefully. "Thanks."

He's sick that weekend, unfortunately, so he can only return to _The Gryffin's Corner_ on the next Monday. Surprisingly, he finds that he missed Fabian's terrible pick-up lines during that time. He's retraced the words on that napkin so many times the thing is now in pieces, and yet he can't find it in himself to get rid of it.

So even though he needs more sleep, he finds himself awake earlier than usual, too eager to get to his new favorite coffee shop to sleep.

 _The Gryffin's Corner_ is empty when he gets there, but it's open. Fabian's head snaps up from the counter when Edgar enters, a wide smile breaking across his face.

"You weren't there last Friday," Fabian points out in a very steady voice as he starts preparing Edgar's order.

Edgar winces. "Yeah, sorry. I was sick all weekend — no coffee for me," he adds jokingly.

Fabian instantly looks relieved. "Oh," he says. "I'm glad you're feeling better then."

He has Edgar's order in one hand and a pen in the other, but he pauses. His eyes drift up to Edgar again, and he sets both down.

"You know," he starts, licking his lips softly. "I know where they give out free drinks.

Edgar huffs out a laugh. "Where?" he asks, playing along when it becomes clear that's what Fabian's waiting for.

"My house," Fabian replies, lips quirked up in a smirk. As usual, he winks as he gives Edgar his order, but this time, Edgar doesn't immediately leave.

Instead, he looks around the place — it's still empty, rather than the busy state he's more used to. His eyes drift back to the counter — it's still as clean as it was that first time he noticed it, but this time he's more interested in the napkins piled up in a corner.

"Can I borrow this?" he asks, nodding at Fabian's sharpie.

"Sure," the barista replies with a shrug.

Edgar accepts it with a thankful smile, and seconds later he slides both napkin and pen back toward him.

"What's this?" Fabian asks, holding up the napkin.

"My number," Edgar replies. "Call me?"

And this time, he's the one winking as he leaves.


	3. secrets we keep

Written for Hogwarts' Meet Cute Marathon: I work at the library, and you continuously ask me to help you find books on the most random topics; are you on some kind of quest?, the Serpent Day Challenge: Zebra snake- (setting) library, the 365 Prompts Challenge: Job - Bookstore Clerk/Librarian, the Insane House Challenge: AU - Library, the Writing Club - Showtime: One Short Day - (setting) Muggle London, Lyric Alley: I'm always lookin' for something, the Scavenger Hunt: Write an AU set outside of the wizarding world.

Word count: 1240

* * *

 **secrets we keep**

Had anyone asked him five years ago what he would like to do in life, and Edgar would have probably answered with something like 'lawyer' or 'work in law enforcement like my mother'. In a pinch, he might have played with the idea of becoming a teacher like his father, but that was more of a vague thought than anything concrete.

And yet, here he was, five years later, working none of those jobs.

Instead, he had fallen in love with the summer job he'd taken at the local library half an hour away from the apartment he'd used in his first year of college, and he had shifted all his focus into ensuring he could work there full time one day.

So now he did.

The Badger's Hole, as everyone called the place, due to its pale white and yellow colors, didn't look like much, but it held treasures.

It also had its fair share of weird visitors.

Like Fabian Prewett.

(No, Edgar had not spied the name on the man's library card and then stalked him online to see what he could find.)

(Absolutely not. That would be immoral.)

(On a completely unrelated note, Fabian Prewett came from a small town in the middle of nowhere called Ottery St Catchpole, and he had one sister and one brother. A twin. He was, by his own words, 'desperately single', which Edgar valiantly tried not to think about.)

.

Fabian Prewett was handsome. He had a face that looked like it was made to smile, with laughter lines already taking shape around his eyes and mouth and earthy brown eyes that always sparkled with mirth.

He was Edgar's favorite — not that he was supposed to have favorites, but the heart wanted what it did — and not just for his looks, or even his personality.

No, what Edgar actually found the most interesting aspect about this visitor was that he always asked challenging questions.

He came twice a week, always on Mondays and Fridays and late in the morning, and he never asked for a book on a subject he'd already checked.

Last week, he'd asked Edgar if he had any books on London's sewage system in the late 1800s and had borrowed half a dozen books on early space travel, all the while returning a tome of obscure African myths and what he had borrowed after asking Edgar if he had any recommendations on 'the best ways to torture someone'.

"Maybe he's a serial killer," Amelia, his little sister, told him after the third time he reported on Fabian's odd requests. "That sounds like something that would happen to you," she adds, giving him that judging look Edgar could swear she was born wearing.

"It does," their brother, Edward, agreed. He patted Edgar consolingly on the arm. "At least he's hot — you'll have that to comfort you before you get cruelly murdered."

"If he makes a move, you mean," Amelia added.

Ugh, siblings. Why did they always have to be the worst?

.

There was always an odd feeling fluttering in Edgar's chest when he saw Fabian's red hair appear in between the shelves, even long before the man wandered to his workstation — not that he took long to do so anymore.

After some time, Edgar had determined that the feeling was a mixture of dread and excitement, which summed up Fabian's presence perfectly.

"Thank you for these," Fabian told him that day, pushing the pile of books on space travel toward Edgar. "These were very helpful."

His smile made Edgar's stomach flip. "You're welcome," he replied, proud of how steady his voice sounded. "Anything else you need today?"

Fabian hummed, eyes drifting away from Edgar's face and toward the rows of books. "Do you have anything on candy making?" he finally asked, eyes snapping back to Edgar's face.

Edgar barely blinked as he started typing Fabian's request into the library's search engine. "I'm sure we have something," he told him as they waited for the machine's answer.

Fabian smiled back. "Of course. You always do."

"Still not going to tell me why you need to know about candy making?" Edgar asked, hoping the light question would conceal the red now on his cheeks.

From the way Fabian's suddenly smirked, that didn't work.

"Nope," he replied, lips popping around the 'p'.

Jokingly, Edgar retorted, "Well, if you don't tell me soon I might have to start to believe my siblings' theory of you being a serial killer."

Fabian's bark of laughter resonated loudly in the silent library, and he immediately pressed a hand against his mouth, eyes shining with embarrassed shock.

"Don't worry," Edgar told him dryly, "I'm sure the librarian won't tell you anything as long as you don't do it again."

Fabian's shame turned into a glare, its heat burrowing under Edgar's skin. Fabian's shoulders kept shaking with restrained laughter, and Edgar allowed himself half a second of amusement before he told Fabian he had his results.

"Aisle B, two rows down. You should find what you're looking for there. I can show you," he added, desperate for the easy banter they had shared not to end.

Though he eyed him curiously at first, Fabian eventually nodded. "That sounds good."

Edgar nodded and called over one of his co-workers, signaling that he was going to help Fabian with his request.

She rolled her eyes at him as she nodded, and Edgar bit back a groan. He just knew he'd be in for some teasing now. What mattered most though was that she did replace him.

The Aisle the books were in wasn't far away — calling it an 'aisle' might be a bit pretentious, actually, but Edgar wasn't the one who had created that system — but they seemed to both agree to walk there as slowly as possible.

Hope, fragile and almost intangible, slowly rose in Edgar's chest.

"I'm not a serial killer, you know," Fabian said suddenly, lips pulled up in a teasing smirk.

"No kidding," Edgar replied with a huff of laughter.

"Hey, I could be one, if I wanted to," Fabian retorted, brow furrowed with mock offense. "I'd make a killing as a murderer."

Edgar choked on his own spit. "That was terrible."

"I thought it was rather clever, actually," Fabian replied, looking almost wounded.

Edgar rolled his eyes. "But anyway, you'd make a terrible serial killer."

"How do you know?"

Without him noticing, they had paused. they had reached their destination, but somehow the moment wasn't about that. Fabian's eyes wouldn't leave Edgar's, and Edgar wasn't anymore able to look away than him.

"I just do," he admitted softly, almost in a whisper.

Fabian's eyes softened and he boldly stepped forward. They now stood so close that Edgar could almost feel the heat radiating off Fabian's body. It made him shiver, heart skipping a beat in his chest.

"May I?" he asked, eyes dipping to Edgar's lips.

Not trusting his own words, Edgar merely nodded.

The kiss was all he had dreamed about and more. It was also wildly inappropriate, and so, Edgar (very) reluctantly broke it off.

"To be continued," he promised, half breathless.

Luckily, no one had seen them — though his replacement gave him a very pointed look when, later, Fabian left and Edgar watched him go.

"What?" he barked, crossing his arms defensively.

"Nothing," she replied with a laugh. "Nothing at all."

But it wasn't nothing, Edgar thought as his eyes followed Fabian's retreating back. It was the furthest thing from nothing there could be.


	4. underneath

Written for Hogwarts' Meet Cute Marathon: I was unaware that there was an organised zombie crawl going on and I didn't realise you were in a costume. I screamed in your face because I truly thought I was facing a zombie invasion, the Herbology Assignment - Task 1: Write about someone who wears a disguise, the Writing Club - Disney Challenge: The Genie - Write about someone feeling trapped, Lyric Alley: It doesn't matter what is out there, the Insane House Challenge: Style - Present Tense, the 365 Prompts Challenge: Style - Present tense.

Word count: 560

* * *

underneath

It happens quickly.

One moment everything is normal, and the next Edgar is trapped, surrounded by a hoard of zombies, their wordless groans echoing through the otherwise empty street.

He's not proud of it, but he screams. Loudly.

He tries to run, but no direction is safe — god, how did he miss this? What the heck is going on? Zombies can't be real, he knows that, even if his eyes are currently telling him otherwise.

It takes him an embarrassing amount of time to realize that the zombies are just passing him by. It still doesn't explain the phenomenon, but it does mean that he's safe. Or safe-ish.

One of the zombies breaks off from the group to follow him, and Edgar starts walking faster, casting nervous glances over his shoulder to check that he's still being followed.

The man — are zombies called men too, or is there another term? he wonders somewhat hysterically — hurries after him, rags hanging off his thin frame. He has red hair dusted white with some kind of powder and his face is covered with dried dirt.

Edgar keeps walking faster, finally reaching the edge of the group. Ahead, he can see other people — normal people, like him — who are filming everything on their phones.

The zombie-man catches up with him.

"Hey, you okay?" he asks, sounding a little out of breath. "I saw you panic a little back there…" he trails off, cheeks blushing underneath the dirt, and extends his hand. "I'm Fabian, by the way."

"Edgar," Edgar replies, shaking the offered hand reflexively. "And I'm fine. I was just a little…"

"Surprised?" Fabian suggests, mouth quirked up in a smirk.

Edgar huffs out a laugh. "Sure, let's go with that." Terrified doesn't sound nearly as good, after all. "So, err… What's all this?" Edgar asked, gesturing at the advancing hoard.

Fabian stares. "You mean you don't know?" He laughs. "Oh man, I'm sorry, that must have been horrible," he says, wincing. "And to answer your question: basically, we dress up as zombies and wander around. Scare people," he adds with a wink.

"So all this," Edgar starts, pointing at Fabian's face and clothes, "is what? A disguise?"

"Judicious application of makeup," Fabian corrects him with a smile. "The blood's mostly caramel sauce, and this," he says, running a hand through his hair and shaking up dust, "is flour."

"What about the dirt on your face?" Edgar asks, now morbidly curious.

"That's the best part — powdered chocolate." He shrugs and licks his lips. "This was my disguise is both fantastic and delicious."

"Helps with the hunger for brains, I assume?" Edgar replies dryly, arching an eyebrow.

"Exactly!" Fabian retorts delightedly. "See? I knew you'd get it. You seemed… sympathetic." He winks.

"To the zombie cause?" The fear is long gone now, but the adrenaline rush lingers in his veins still, causing him to say things he otherwise wouldn't.

"If that means you'll give me your number, sure."

Edgar's mouth falls open instantly, but he forces himself to take reach for his phone instead. Heart pounding in his chest, he digs it out of his pocket slowly, and, mouth running dry, he asks, "Why don't you give me yours instead?"

Thirty seconds later, Edgar has a new contact named Zombie Boy, and a new love for the not-quite-dead.


	5. autumn too long

Written for Hogwarts' Meet Cute Marathon: "i came to check out this support group but things have kind of been majorly sucking lately and you were there and i didn't even know anything was wrong but we've known each other for months what gives", the Writing Club - Character Appreciation: (Relationship) Brother, Disney Challenge: Prince Ali - Write about someone pretending to be something they're not, Showtime: No Good Deed - (word) Attention, Lyric Alley: I've never been that lucky, Jenny's Jovial Quotations: "Winning is only important in war and surgery." - Al McGire, Library Lovers: Fangirl - Rainbow Rowell, (relationship) Twins, (plot point) Mental Health, (plot point) Misunderstanding, (restriction) Feature a slash pairing, Serpent Day: Hopi rattlesnake - (word) fragile, the Insane House Challenge: Character - Fabian Prewett, the 365 Prompts Challenge: Sexuality - Gay.

 _Word count:_ 1428

* * *

 **autumn too long**

The diagnosis came when Edgar was eighteen. One moment he was happily graduating high school and looking forward to life in college, finally able to get some distance from his family for once, and the next he was lying in a hospital bed, getting told he had a tumor in his head.

Getting told that without an operation _now_ , he'd probably be dead in two or three years, if not less. That even then, the cancer might come back one day.

He had had the operation.

That had been five years ago.

Edgar was _fine_. He was. There was no need for his siblings to worry, no need for his mother to look at him like he might vanish if she looked away, no need for his father to grieve like he had died on that table.

No need for them to push him to go to some stupid support group.

"It might help," they told him; like he needed help. "You're not fine, Edgar," his mother said, and behind her, Amelia, her face soft in the way it only ever was around her family, said, "For me, please?"

And well, Edgar had never been able to tell his little sister no.

He never expected to like it, though. But the people there, if not the atmosphere, was compelling.

There was Alastor, who is more machine than man these days (his words, not Edgar's) and sees death everywhere and was the bitterest man Edgar's ever met — and yet he also looked out for everyone else.

"You're all too pitiful on your own," he would say. "I can't stand to leave you alone — you probably wouldn't make it another day. I was in the Army, boy," he would add. "I know these things."

There was Alice, a tiny wisp of a girl who only looked fragile — in truth, she had so much spirit, so much fire, that even Alastor grudgingly respected her. On Edgar's first time here, she had told their counselor, who had been trying his 'you won the fight against cancer, you can win this too' bullshit, "Winning is only important in war and surgery."

There was Caradoc, who couldn't speak anymore but who still had enough presence to fill the entire room just by himself.

And then there was Gideon, the surly redhead who alternated between looking like he wanted to be there just as much as Edgar did and cracking jokes like there was no tomorrow.

Gideon was a mystery and interesting; an enigma wrapped in the prettiest body.

In short, he was everything Edgar was missing in his life. The missing puzzle piece — something to hold his attention.

.

Sometimes, Fabian dreamed about the infinite number of ways everything could have gone right.

In those dreams, his brother had never gotten sick. Gideon had never had death shadowing his every step, had never known that his own body could work against him — never known that he could be betrayed in this most horrible way.

In those dreams, his brother had never laid in a hospital bed, skin deathly pale and red hair shaved off as he waited for a cure that might not even work.

(It had, though. Thank the heavens, but it had.)

Waking from those dreams always was the hardest part.

Maybe that was why Fabian had agreed to go to Gideon's support group whenever it got to be too much for his brother. After all, they were twins. As long as he remembered to answer to Gideon, no one would ever know to suspect a thing.

It was supposed to be foolproof. A way to help his brother heal when the group didn't seem to, and to help _him_ heal as well — because it helped, seeing all those people who had gone through the same thing as his twin had.

It made him feel like a fraud, but it helped.

Fabian wasn't sure what that said about him.

And for a long time, everything had worked just fine. Gideon and Fabian traded places for the meetings randomly and no one suspected a thing. Not even their parents or, god forbid, their little sister.

But then Edgar Bones had joined the support group, and things had… shifted. They had changed without Fabian even realizing they had, and now he was struggling to stay afloat somewhere where he had thought he'd always reach the ground.

Edgar, with his chiseled cheekbones and his sharp smiles. Edgar, who never takes his eyes off him and looks at him like he's a mystery.

Edgar, who thinks he's Gideon.

.

"I have a problem," Edgar said out loud, looking into his mirror. His reflection looked back, silent and unwavering.

Saying the words out loud hadn't made anything clearer, the way he'd madly half-hoped it would, and now Edgar is back to contemplating his inner turmoil as he's done over the past few weeks.

He pressed the palms of his hands against his closed eyes until he saw red, but it didn't help. When he blinked away the odd spots, he could still remember Gideon's face, the way those freckles looked on his cheeks when his lips twisted into a smile.

The freckles.

"The freckles," he whispered, head snapping back up.

The man in the mirror had wild, feverish eyes. The look of someone who'd just had a revelation.

"The freckles," he repeated, hope filling his veins with a terrible cold.

He knew, suddenly, why Gideon always acted so differently from one session to the next. Why he sometimes seemed to forget what Edgar had told him, only to remember it later.

After all, hadn't he mentioned a sibling? A brother, even, who had given him the bone marrow he needed to live.

Edgar knew the odds of that. Strangely, they were higher if that sibling was a twin.

A relieved laugh bubbled up his throat, spilling nervously from his mouth. "There's two of them," he breathed.

In the mirror, his own eyes twinkled.

.

"We have a problem," Fabian said, storming his brother's room. His heart was pounding in his chest and he was pacing, but he couldn't help it, couldn't stop moving. If he did, he would see Edgar's face again. See Edgar's lips as he smiled, hear his laugh echo in his mind, remember the feel of his skin from when their hands brushed against one another.

Gideon kicked his chair around, putting his feet against his bed to stop its spinning when he faced his brother.

"You mean _you_ have a problem," he replied dryly.

" _We_ have a problem," Fabian insists. Panics claws at his throat. "What are we supposed to do — we can't just tell him!"

"Ah, so this _is_ about Edgar then," Gideon replied, laughter clear in his voice.

Fabian glared at him. "Of course it's about Edgar," he said. "He's going to figure us out, you know he will."

Gideon shrugged. "So what? Let him."

" _Let him?"_ Fabian gaped.

"Sure, why not? I don't need to go back to that support group, it's useless to me. I haven't been in weeks."

'You…" Fabian trailed off as he realized how true that was. He _had_ taken his brother's place in the group more and more lately. In fact, he had attended every session in the last two weeks.

Eyes narrowing, he glared at his brother harder. " _Gideon_ …" He growled.

Gideon rolled his eyes. "Come on, I had to get tired of your mooning at some point. Plus, it got really weird having him stare at me — you know I'm straight. I thought maybe this way you might finally end up making a move. Or he might. God forbid he try it on me, after all." He shivered.

"Yes, god forbid," Fabian drawled sarcastically.

"It'd be awkward," Gideon continued.

Fabian snorted. "Pretty sure awkward would be too weak of a word here," he replied, chest warming when Gideon smiled at his words.

"But seriously, Fabian, just make a move. You'd have to be blind not to see how gone you two are for each other — don't be stupid and just ask him out already."

"I…"

"Say you will," Gideon prompted, eyes burning with gentle determination.

It had been so long since Gideon's eyes had burned with anything even resembling life.

"I will." The words slipped out almost on their own, but he didn't regret them.

"Good," Gideon replied, smile blindingly bright. "That's good."

 _Yes_ , Fabian thought, butterflies fluttering in his stomach as he thought about asking Edgar out, _it rather was_.


	6. and here's the frozen proof

Written for Hogwarts' Meet Cute Marathon: Person A is a superhero and is in love with their superhero partner/sidekick/nemesis, Person B, the 365 Prompts Challenge: AU - Superhero!AU, Serpent Day Challenge: California king snake- (AU) superhero, Library Lovers: Suite Scarlett - Maureen Johnson, (setting) Hotel, (relationship) Siblings, (dialogue) "We all know what we're doing. Whether we realize it or not.", the Writing Club - Character Appreciation: (Word) Family, Disney Challenge: Friend Like Me - Write about someone who has a huge personality, Book Club: Judge Farris: (character) Amelia Bones, (word) volunteer, (trait) courageous, Showtime: Defying Gravity - (dialogue) "Think of what we could do together.", Count Your Buttons: (character) Amelia Bones, (word) neck, (dialogue) "Can you help me?", Lyric Alley: Misleadin' me, Jenny's Jovial Quotation: "My reputation is terrible, which comforts me a lot." - Noel Coward, the Insane House Challenge: AU - Villain and the Arts and Crafts Assignment: Task #4, Scrapbooking: Write about someone collecting something important.

This is set in the same universe as my JohnAmelia superhero!AU We Could Be Heroes (Just For One Day), where Amelia is a vigilante called Justice (and is sort of Daredevil) and Kingsley is Lightning and her sidekick/partner, and together they took down Voldemort's drug operation.

Basically some people have powers and superheroes (and villains), while known, are sort of controversial.

 _Word count:_ 2801

* * *

 **and here's the frozen proof**

The thing was, becoming a villain had never been part of the plan.

Not that there had been a plan, per se. Fabian liked to plan for everything, sure, but not even he could have predicted what would happen, how quickly things would spiral out of control.

Thinking back on it, he could retrace his steps to the moment everything started to go wrong.

Fabian had been only just eighteen then, freshly out of high school. He'd managed to keep his powers hidden until then — not out of shame, but because having a power and not wanting to use it in a _legitimate_ job wasn't looked on kindly, and Fabian didn't really want to do anything with his ice powers.

Keeping his family and himself cool during the summers was more than enough for him. He wanted to become a teacher, but if his powers came out he'd have the choice between fireman and ice cream maker.

Yes, okay, he was exaggerating a little — but not that much, unfortunately.

But as he'd been walking home he had heard a scream — a girl, as young as Fabian's own sister, was struggling against the grip of a monster of a man, and Fabian had seen red.

The man had frozen instantly, and this time, when the girl had struggled, she had managed to break her assailant's grip.

But the statue had also fallen and shattered, and the man had died a horrible death.

Fabian had run back home without looking back — and he still hates that he didn't think to check up on the girl — and he had spent the night throwing up and ignoring his concerned family.

The next morning, the papers were ablaze with the apparition of a new villain who had frozen a man solid and then killed him, leaving behind a fifteen-year-old girl with severe frostbite on both her arms.

Fabian hadn't been able to eat a single bite that morning, and half an hour later, once their parents had left for their respective works and Molly had gone to see her friends, Gideon had cornered him in his room.

"Tell me you didn't," he said, eyes pleading.

Still tasting bile in his throat, Fabian had stayed silent.

Gideon had understood him anyway — Fabian could never hide anything from his twin — and he'd sat down on the bed, heaving a long, terrible sigh. "God, this is so messed up," he'd said, running a hand through his messy red hair.

"Tell me about it," Fabian had replied, chuckling humorlessly.

It had taken him five seconds to confess to everything — the girl crying out and his powers lashing out ( _himself_ lashing out, because his powers haven't acted without conscious thought since he turned eleven), freezing a man solid.

How he can still hear the sound that man made as he shattered, how he can still see his face, stuck in horrified agony.

There had been no blood when Fabian had left the scene, but the pictures on the newspapers that morning had been from later. The broken pieces had thawed then.

There had been so much blood…

"Hey," Gideon had whispered, "you'll be okay. We'll just…" He swallowed, hard. "We'll just have to be more careful. You didn't know what you were doing."

"You mean _I_ will," Fabian had retorted wryly. He had sighed. "And we all know what we're doing. Whether we realize it or not."

Gideon had glared back. " _We_ will. I'm with you, brother. Always. You know that — we'll figure this out, and we'll make sure this doesn't happen again."

Fabian had closed his eyes. They had prickled hotly with tears he refused to shed. "What if…" He licked his lips, words sticking in his mouth like too sweet tea. "What if I wanted it to happen again?"

Because it had been horrible, yes, and it made him sick to his stomach… but he had saved that girl. She had been hurting, and he had helped her.

Wasn't that worth _something_?

"Is that truly what you want?"

It shouldn't have been such a relief to hear his brother's voice so devoid of judgment, but it was.

"Yes," he had said, staring into brown eyes identical to his own. "It is. Can you help me?"

This was a terrible thing he was asking of his brother, and yet he couldn't _not_ do it. Having Gideon by his side, supporting him… It would make all the difference. It would mean he wasn't lost.

Gideon took forever to reply, and Fabian's heart pounded in his chest. Finally, he said, "Of course."

It felt like Fabian could breathe again.

* * *

They started with plants and insects. Things he could kill without regrets — things he could test his abilities on.

He remembered doing this once before, back when he had first found out about his powers. Back then, though, he had been playing — freezing the pond in winter so they could skate on it, making his snowballs better than everyone else's, ensuring his drinks were always chilled in the summer months…

Parlor tricks, compared to what he was doing now.

He hadn't killed anyone else, but he had caused a few more frostbite cases, some more severe than others.

The public called him the Iceman, and they were scared of him.

But more importantly, crime was going down.

"The Iceman's a terrible name," Gideon noted, throwing the newspaper at Fabian's face. He glared. "I thought we had agreed you wouldn't go out again until you had this," he wiggled his fingers in a crude approximation of Fabian's ability, "under control."

Fabian scowled. "It went fine. No one saw me. And you know I had to do this — I have to practice on humans too, and I don't see you volunteering." Not that Fabian wanted him to. The mere thought of it was enough to make him sick.

"They're calling you a villain," Gideon continued, ignoring Fabian's last remark but for a quick roll of his eyes. His lips were pursed thin.

"I am," Fabian said, nodding curtly. "By their standards, I am — I was a villain from the moment that guy died."

"That's not fair."

"Well, life's not fair." Fabian shrugged, ignoring the twinge of pain in his heart at his words. "If it were, I wouldn't need to do this."

He stared at his brother until Gideon looked away. "Well," he said, tone a little too bright to be real, "I don't think you're a villain."

Fabian's lips quirked up in a tired smile, and he pulled the paper to himself. "Thanks, Gideon."

This time, Gideon looked him in the eyes, unflinching. "You're welcome."

* * *

Once he was identified as a villain, it didn't take long for the heroes to start coming after him.

His least favorite was Justice — and with her, Lightning, who was annoyingly fast (luckily, he was _not_ immune to slippery roads, and at the speeds he liked to go at, a fall had to hurt). The woman had this way of getting in the middle of his business, and she was ridiculously moral.

In short, she grated on his nerves.

"Your way's not working," Fabian would shout at her, frost rising from his closed fists. He could always taste the Arctic in the air when he had to speak to Justice, because the woman never listened. "You take them down, they get back up — a week later, they're back in the streets, doing it all over again. I take them down, they never come back."

"We don't kill people," she'd answer. "That is not the way. Think of what we could do together," she would plead.

But Fabian had seen the state some of her victims were in — in their place, he'd prefer death.

"Some people don't deserve to live," he'd reply coldly.

"You don't believe that," Justice would say.

There was never any place for doubt in her tone, and it always made Fabian's blood boil. 'I do."

Rinse and repeat.

All this because she had seen him save a girl once, and since then she believed he could be better.

That he should be better.

But he wasn't, and he didn't want to be. His way was working.

So what if he had more nightmares than sleep these days? What if he dreaded the day he saw fear in his mother's or little sister's eyes — or worse, his brother's, the only person who truly knew him?

None of that mattered if it meant there'd be one less girl calling out for help.

But Justice didn't see it that way. She refused to. In his more charitable moments, Fabian believed she couldn't.

That left him with a problem, though. he had to get rid of her — and unlike his usual means of doing so, he couldn't just freeze her. Even if not everyone considered her as such, Justice was a hero.

A true one, not a villain like Fabian. She did good in the world — she'd do more if she stopped stalking Fabian, obviously — and so she didn't deserve to die.

If he killed everyone who annoyed him, the world would be a very lonely place, after all.

He did need a way to get rid of her, though — which was what led him to Edgar.

* * *

Edgar Bones, ex-war reporter now working for the Daily Prophet's hero column, was the brother of a blind lawyer who was dating the cop said to have worked with Justice on taking down Voldemort's drug operation last year.

The irony was almost too much.

Kidnapping him was too easy.

Fabian froze his lips shut — this, he had learned to do a long time ago to silence annoying siblings, and he knew how to reverse it harmlessly — and dragged him to the abandoned hotel he had more or less declared his base of operations.

("It's an evil lair," Gideon had told him when Fabian had shown him the place. He had been thoroughly unimpressed by the dusty, half-dilapidated staircase, or by the old crystal chandelier hanging above them. "You have an evil lair."

"It's not an evil lair," Fabian had protested, but his brother had refused to listen. "It's our base of operations. Like Batman and the Batcave," he tried, a little desperate.

Needless to say, that hadn't worked. Since then, Gideon had referred to Fabian's squatted hotel as his evil lair, and now even Fabian had gotten used to it.)

Fabian tied Bones to a chair and took off his makeshift gag and blindfold carefully. "I'm really sorry about this, but I need your sister to leave me alone," Fabian said. "I promise I won't hurt you. I just want to talk to her."

Edgar barely flinched, though his body tensed. "I don't know what you're talking about," he lied, and Fabian had to admire his courage.

"Sure you don't," Fabian scoffed, moving closer to the windows. Justice should already know he'd taken her brother, and he had left her enough clues that she'd know where to find him.

Sacrificing this place would be inconvenient, but if it got Justice off his case, it'd be well worth it.

He turned his back on Edgar for only a moment — but a moment was all it took.

There was a sharp pain in the back of his head, spreading through his neck and down his spine, and everything went black.

When Fabian came back to his sense, night had fallen and his hostage was gone, the ropes binding him cut off.

Despite his discomfort, his lips curled into a smirk. Oh, this could be fun.

* * *

The next time, he brought handcuffs and he pettily didn't unfreeze Edgar's lips.

The man glared at him, brown eyes icy, until Fabian blinked and suddenly, Edgar was gone. There was blood at the back of his head and a ringing noise in his ears, and yet he had no recollection of what had happened.

He tried again, and again, and again, and…

Well, he stopped counting after a while. It didn't matter what he did — Edgar always escaped the moment Edgar turned his eyes away.

Finally, he decided not to bother with the gag — he did, however, regretfully knock Edgar out to bring him there.

And then he had to call Gideon to help him carry the unconscious body to the lair, because Edgar was heavier than he looked.

"You know," Gideon grumbled as they carried the body inside, "there _are_ easier ways to ask a bloke out on a date."

Fabian blushed violently. "I'm not — that's not — _Gideon_!"

Gideon burst into laughter, and for a moment it was just like they were sixteen again, playing a prank on their sister's unsuspecting boyfriend.

And then Edgar started to stir, and Fabian cursed. "Go, go," he told his brother. "I can handle it from here."

Gideon snorted, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. "I'm sure," he drawled, but he obligingly vanished.

"You know, you don't actually need to blindfold me or anything when you bring me here," were Edgar's first words when he truly came back to himself. "I know how to find this place — I did escape it." His lips twisted into a smug smirk that shouldn't have looked as attractive as it did. "Several times."

That startled him. "And you didn't tell anyone? Why?"

Edgar shrugged. His hands were untied still, Fabian noticed, and yet he felt no urge to bind them. "Didn't seem all that important," he said, still smirking. He stared right into Fabian's eyes, and Fabian shivered.

"I don't get you," he admitted, nonplussed. "Don't you want your sister to rescue you?"

"I don't need her to rescue me," Edgar said, rolling his eyes. "I can rescue myself just fine. Besides, you told me you weren't going to hurt me."

"I could have been lying," Fabian spluttered.

Edgar tapped the tip of his nose knowingly. "You weren't — I would have known."

"Oh," Fabian said, eyes growing wide. " _Oh_."

Why had it never occurred to him that if Justice was powered her brother might be too?

He looked away, staring at the entrance door. He had left it open, he realized.

It didn't matter, he told himself firmly. He could always close it later. He turned back around and almost jumped out of his skin.

"You're still here," he said, surprised.

And indeed, Edgar hadn't moved. He was still sitting in the chair Fabian had practically shoved him into. For once, he hadn't run away when Edgar turned his back on him.

"I'm still here," Edgar confirmed, a playful smile on his lips.

Fabian frowned, heart twisting as it tried not to hope. "Why?"

Edgar's smile grew. "I wanted to try something different."

It was a trap. He knew it. He could see it — Edgar's smile was too honeyed for it not to be a trap.

And yet, Fabian found that he didn't care.

"I'm not going to stop what I'm doing," he cautioned. "You can't convince me otherwise."

Once again, Edgar shrugged. "I'm not my sister," he said. "I won't pretend I like it, or condone it, but… I do understand your point of view."

"Your sister doesn't," Fabian pointed out, heart beating faster.

Edgar nodded. "And she won't either. She's not built for it."

"And you're different?"

"Sometimes." He smirked.

Fabian hesitated for a long second but… Well, he didn't really have anything to lose. "Alright," he said.

It almost hurt to take off his mask. Still wearing the Iceman's dark clothing, he felt naked without it. Bare, exposed for the world to see.

But here, the world was only Edgar, who stared back hungrily.

"I'm Fabian," he said, extending a hand. On his tongue, the words tasted like hope and renewal.

"Edgar," Edgar said, taking Fabian's hand and shaking it. "But you knew that already."

It hit him then, and his heart raced in his chest. He tightened his hold on Edgar's hand, but released it when the other man barely winced, even though he must have felt the cold.

"So did you," he breathed out. "How?"

Edgar inclined his head humbly. "I'm very good at my job — don't worry," he quickly added when Fabian's face fell. "I wouldn't dare reveal anything you didn't want me to, unless I absolutely had to."

Fabian believed him. He had no real reason to, but he did.

He sighed and rubbed his chest, where his heart clenched very tenderly. He cast one last long look at their surroundings — now, more than ever, that hotel looked abandoned. Desolate.

Fabian fought back a shiver. "What do you say we get out of here?"

Edgar grinned. "I thought you'd never ask."


	7. like a river to the shore

Written for Hogwarts' Meet Cute Marathon: "you drunkenly paid to get a tattoo at my parlor and didn't want to lose the money but the day has come and I have to hold your hand while someone else tattoos you", the Insane House Challenge: AU - Tattoo Artist, the Writing Club - Showtime: No One Mourns the Wicked - (dialogue) "Take it away.", Count Your Buttons: "A Matter of Trust" by Billy Joel, "Think about it.", Official, Lyric Alley: I'm a little bit scared, the 365 Prompts Challenge: Word - Memory, the Fanfic Resolution Challenge: Write an AU that you've never written before, and Serpent Day Event: Blonde hognose snake - (word) whisper.

 _Word count:_ 1637

* * *

 **like a river to the shore**

Like the majority of Fabian's misadventures — if not all of them — this one can be traced by to alcohol and his brother.

Either already spells disaster, but the two combined always lead to nights that Fabian literally cannot remember.

Which is why when the phone rings to remind him of an appointment he took two weeks ago — smack in the middle of his brother's latest "you need to relax, Fabian" idea — he has no idea what's happening.

Ten minutes later, he rests his phone down on the table with a resounding _crack_ and puts his head in between his hands, groaning loudly.

Well, at least now he knows where those two hundred pounds got to.

He takes almost fifteen minutes to gather his thoughts before he picks up his phone again to call his brother.

Gideon answers on the second ring.

"Hey bro, what's up?"

Not bothering with a greeting, Fabian replies, "Gideon, did you sign me up for some tattoo the last time we went out?"

It's a shame his brother can't see him — Fabian's grin is truly frightening, sharp and unveiling teeth.

"Ah, so they called you." Gideon chuckles awkwardly. "That's nice of them."

"Well, apparently I paid them already," Fabian retorts bitingly. "And they wanted to check if I was still free for our appointment."

"Hey, don't blame me, this was all your idea — we passed in front of it and you said, and I quote, 'this guy's hot, I need an excuse to go in', and then you strode in without even waiting for me."

Fabian blinks. "How hot?" he asks absentmindedly. Unfortunately, he had inherited their father's poor ability to hold his liquor — unlike his twin, who had somehow gotten their mother's — and at most he could recall a vague hint of a grin and the impression of kind eyes.

"I thought the point of this was that you didn't want to go," Gideon says dryly before huffing out a laugh.

"I _don't_ ," Fabian confirms, "but it's paid for already, and they don't do refunds." He pouts. "I just don't want to lose the money."

His brother's laughter carries over the phone and Fabian rolls his eyes.

"Very funny," he says drolly. "What else am I supposed to do?"

"Err, not go?" Gideon replies, still laughing. "I'm sure they wouldn't mind."

"And I told you that wasn't an option. I'm going, and I'm getting that tattoo. And that's final."

"Sure, sure, whatever you say," Gideon retorts, half giggling.

Fabian huffs loudly, and then, because his brother can't seem to be able to stop laughing at him, he hangs up.

.

 _Bones and Needles_ isn't exactly a name that inspires a lot of trust in him, and not for the first time since he learned about this stupid endeavor, Fabian wonders what possessed him to get an appointment for a tattoo there.

Still, it's finally time for him to go, and so he squares his shoulders and goes in with a sigh.

The inside of the shop is very different from what Fabian was half-expecting, half-dreading. Where the exterior was dark and dull, the inside is bright an inviting. Official-looking, too. Pictures of past tattoos hang one the walls — some of them are actual work of arts — and for the first time, Fabian can actually see why he decided to come here.

The second reason appears almost thirty seconds later, wiping his hands on a towel he then throws on his chair.

Fabian blinks, mouth dropping open a little before he remembers to close it.

'He's hot,' he had apparently told his brother. Looking at who he hopes is going to be his tattoo artist, Fabian can see that was, if anything, an understatement.

"Hello," Fabian says as he approaches the desk. "I'm -"

"Oh, you're Fabian, right?" the man replies, a jovial smile on his lips. It makes him look even more handsome, and Fabian's knees go weak. "You're here for your appointment, right? I'm Edgar."

"Ah, yes," Fabian admits. "That's me."

Still smiling, Edgar guides him further into the shop, where a large leather seat awaits.

"So, last time you were here you said you wanted something for your arm, but, err…" For the first time, Edgar's smile falters and turns into an awkward kind of wince.

Fabian winces too when he realizes why Edgar looks at him that way. "I was pretty trashed, huh?" he says self-deprecatingly.

Edgar nods apologetically. "That's why we refused to tattoo you then," he explains. "I tried to tell you that you didn't have to get tattooed at all, but you insisted pretty strongly, so you took an appointment instead, and now here we are." He shrugs.

"Here we are," Fabian echoes softly. He sits down.

"So, have you thought about design?" At Fabian's confused look, he adds, "You know, what you want your tattoo to be?"

Fabian flounders. "Should I have?"

Edgar chuckles. "Well, last time you were here you were pretty insistent on — actually, I think it's better if I don't say it." He corrects himself absently and Fabian feels like banging his head against the wall.

What kind of tattoo had he tried to get?

Surprisingly, for once, just thinking about the event is enough for it to emerge from the recesses of his mind. The memory is blurry, but still clear enough that Fabian clearly recalls begging Fabian to "put his number on him so I can call you".

Blushing furiously, he turns away. Luckily, his eyes are drawn again to the art on the walls. It's a little more abstract here than what he saw earlier, but Fabian likes it all the more for it.

One, in particular, stands out to him. It's a picture of a bird — a phoenix. A few splashes of red and oranges have it rise out of its flames, incandescent, and Fabian's heart skips a beat. This is what he wants. He can feel it.

"This one," he says, voice barely higher than a fervent whisper. He clears his throat and tries again, pointing at the picture. "Can you do this one, please?"

Edgar looks at the picture and his eyes widen in surprise, though Fabian can see that he's also pleased. It makes his heart flutter.

"You're sure that's what you want? Think about it — this isn't really something you can take back."

Looking straight into Edgar's eyes, Fabian realizes he's never been surer of anything.

"Alright then, let's get to it."

"Take it away," Fabian jokes.

It makes Edgar snort with laughter, and Fabian settles to watch him work as he gets ready.

.

After the fifth time Fabian's arm starts to violently shake when Edgar approaches it with the needle, Edgar steps away with a loud sigh, worrying his lower lips between his lips.

"This isn't working," he says, frowning.

"It's not," Fabian admits reluctantly. He rolls his shoulder and draws his right arm back to his side. "I'm sorry, it's just…" He shivers, not sure how to explain the visceral fear that invades his mind when he sees the needle near his skin.

"It's fine," Edgar replies. "You're hardly the first to have a hard time with this, you know." His lips quirk up into a smile and Fabian relaxes a little.

He likes listening to Edgar's voice. Earlier, he'd kept a running commentary while he prepared his ink and it had helped, but now it's no longer enough.

Edgar's eyes fall to Fabian's trembling arm at the same time as Fabian's do.

"I could always hold your hand." The tone is joking, but Fabian's heart leaps in his chest, and yes — yes, this would help.

"Would you?" he asks, mouth dry.

Edgar frowns. "It's not very proper," he says. "And I wouldn't be able to do your tattoo at the same time."

"Can't someone else do it?" Fabian asks pleadingly.

Edgar looks torn, but he nods. "I can ask. Wait here."

He stands up fluidly and comes back five minutes later with a woman Fabian doesn't recognize.

"Fabian, this is Dorcas — Dorcas, Fabian. She's agreed to work on you while I…" he trails off, blushing, and Dorcas chuckles at him.

"While you hold his hand, you can say it." She turns to Fabian with a wide grin. "I think it's adorable," she tells him. "You're lucky — Edgar would never hold _my_ hand."

"That's because you're a menace," Edgar retorts, taking his place back at Fabian's side. His hand slips into Fabian's like it's meant to be there, and Fabian squeezes it tightly.

Dorcas lets out a low whistle as she sees the design Fabian picked, and Edgar's head snaps up toward her worriedly. "You're going to be okay with this? We can switch if you think it'd be too hard for you…"

Dorcas lets out a derisive scoff. "Please, you know I can do this — you wouldn't have asked me to otherwise. Stop worrying. Besides," she adds, lips pulling into a teasing smirk, "I don't think Fabian here would let you try." She nods toward their joined hands, and Edgar blushes and looks away.

When he's not looking, she winks at Fabian and flashes him a thumbs-up.

It's gone by the time Edgar turns back around, but that, plus the grounding feeling of his hand in Fabian's, makes it easier to relax.

He'd be lying if he said he wasn't still stressed and anxious — still scared of that needle, of the pain and of the knowledge that he's going to ink something into his skin permanently — but with Edgar's hand in his, it's not as daunting.

He has a feeling that nothing would scare him for long, if he just kept holding onto Edgar's hand.


	8. after the storm

Written for Hogwarts' Meet Cute Marathon: You're a celebrity who just broke up and I tweeted you a selfie with the caption "date me" as a joke but you thought I was serious?, the Serpent Day Event: Blood python- (object) wine glass, the Library Lovers Event: Sabriel - Garth Nix, (au) Royalty, (object) Bell, (dialogue) "I love you. I hope you don't mind.", the Writing Club - Character Appreciation: (Trait) Reliable, Showtime: Finale - (word) Wicked, Count Your Buttons: "Brave" by Sara Bareilles, Toothbrush, Lyric Alley: The weight's off my shoulders, Liza's Love: Royal Arrival - Write a royal!AU, the Insane House Challenge: Scenario - You're a celebrity who just broke up and I tweeted you a selfie with the caption "date me" as a joke but you thought I was serious?, Fanfic Resolution Challenge: Write a meet cute, the 365 Prompts Challenge: AU - Royalty!AU.

 _Word count:_ 1103

* * *

 **after the storm**

Edgar wakes up to over a thousand Twitter notifications, over two hundred Facebook friend requests and seven missed calls — five from his sister, two from his brother.

As he yawns widely, trying to chase the nasty aftertaste of alcohol in his mouth — god, _what_ had he drunk last night?

For that matter, _how much_ had he drunk last night?

Yes, okay, his girlfriend/maybe fiancée had broken up with him, but he was pretty sure he was also getting too old for getting blackout drunk. The last time that had happened had been in college, and Edgar had been glad to leave those days behind him.

Just as he fights with his sheets to get up, his phone vibrates some more, loudly drilling holes into his cranium. He finally manages to swing his arm out of the mess that his covers have become, and with a groan, he grabs his phone.

 _Amelia Bones_ , the screen flashes too brightly.

With a louder groan, Edgar swipes left to ignore the call — he'll pay for it later, of course, but considering how many missed calls he already has, it can't really get any worse.

He checks his messages instead — Twitter is hopeless, having crashed sometime after the thousandth notification, and he's not really in the mood for Facebook. Also, he only has a dozen messages to check, which is about all he can handle right now — ie still half drunk from last night.

Not suicidal, he checks Amelia's messages first. The first ones are fairly standard, dated early last night.

 _How did it go?_ says the first one.

 _Well? What did she say?_

Later comes, _I'm guessing from your lack of answer that it didn't go well. I'm sorry._

And, after a bunch of messages in the same tone, _Would it kill you to pick up your phone? I'm worried._

The most interesting messages happen from four am onward though.

More especially, the one that reads _Take down that tweet right now! Edgar, I'm serious._

(His sister always has perfect grammar, even when texting. She got all the stuck-up genes in the family, luckily for the rest of them and unluckily for her.)

The last one reads _You're on your own in this mess_ , and dread pools in his stomach as he struggles to remember what tweet Amelia is talking about.

Stunned, he opens his brother's texts.

There are fewer of them. Most are just a bunch of exclamation points and crude emojis that are so very awkward to get from his little brother, but a couple do contain text.

 _Omg I can't believe you_ , says the first one. _Lia's furious but I think it's hilarious. Kudos to you, tho — you have balls!_

Wincing, Edgar scrolls past a bunch of vegetables emojis he wishes he didn't know the meaning of until he gets to another text.

 _Holy shit Ed I can't believe that worked! you have the most wicked luck I swear — I need your secret! tell me how you did it!_

The dread gets stronger and reluctantly, Edgar opens Twitter. He's glad he stopped his phone from vibrating to new notifications from that site ages ago, or he's pretty sure his phone would have fallen off his hand. Notifications are still coming in strong.

It doesn't take him long to track down the source.

Last night, at 23:07, Prince Fabian of Wales posted a picture of a tub of ice-cream, a half-empty wine glass, and of The Aristocats DVD. It's captioned 'Single again, send advice on post-break-up binge food.'

At 2:47 am, probably when he had seen that message, and in his drunken haze, Edgar had sent back a selfie.

"I love you. I hope you don't mind," he reads disbelievingly. "Please date me?"

Yes, he'd always had a crush on the prince — but come on, who didn't? That didn't mean he'd ever actually entertained the idea of being in a relationship with him.

His disbelief only grows though when he sees Prince Fabian's answer at 3:11 am. 'Sure,' it says. 'Are you free tomorrow for lunch? I'll come pick you up.'

Edgar makes a strangled noise, choking on air. He closes his eyes and opens them again, but no, the words are still there, taunting him.

They'd kept conversing for about an hour after that, exchanging tweets. Luckily, he had had enough sense not to give out his address on the web, though Fabian's 'I'm sure I can find out where you live' isn't exactly as romantic as hundreds of tweets make it sound.

Unluckily, he hadn't had the presence of mind to realize he'd still be half drunk in the morning, and thus that telling a prince you'd go out on a date with them at twelve couldn't be a good idea.

Especially considering that it was now 11:37, Edgar realizes with desperate panic.

He half-jumps, half-falls out of bed and stumbles into his bathroom to brush his teeth and try to make his hair look at least somewhat presentable. Fortunately, he shaved yesterday so he doesn't need to today and he grabs the shortest shower of his existence, somehow managing to brush his teeth at the same time.

He lets the toothbrush fall into the sink as he hurries back outside the bathroom to pick up clean clothes. He almost trips on air five times but he makes it in one piece in the end — and he's even dressed and mostly presentable when the doorbell rings.

Outside, a church bell rings too — twelve on the dot. No one can say that this Prince isn't punctual.

Stealing himself, Edgar opens the door. It's just one date, after all. He's had dozens of those in his life, he can do this.

One date, but with a prince.

With _the_ prince — the one Edgar's been half in love with ever since he knew what love was.

God, he can't screw this up.

 _Then don't_ , a little voice in his head that sounds like his mother whispers.

And so Edgar takes a deep breath, and he listens to it.

"Hi," he says to the mean he's dreamed about for half his life. "I'm Edgar."

Fabian, brown eyes twinkling with mirth, takes the hand Edgar extended in greetings and presses a soft kiss on top of it. His lips only just brush the skin, but Edgar feels like he's on fire.

"Hi," Fabian echoes, grin jubilant as he finally lets go of Edgar's hand. "You ready?"

Edgar takes a deep breath and looks straight into his eyes.

"Yes," he says, and walks toward the future.


	9. One Door Opens

Written for Hogwarts' Meet Cute Marathon: A was fatally wounded and suddenly finds themself looking down at their own lifeless body in confusion. B is a reaper and offers A guidance... but A doesn't want to do the whole 'follow the light' rubbish. A wants to flirt with the cute reaper, the Insane House Challenge: First Line - It started like any other Sunday, Serpent Day: Egg-eater - (object) watch, Library Lovers: Me Before You - Jojo Moyes, (dialogue) "Tell me something good.", Write about trying to change someone's mind, Write about eavesdropping, the Writing Club - Character Appreciation: (Object) Muggle car, Disney Challenge: The Sultan - Word Set: Hypnotised/short/happy, Book Club: Dayna Jurgens: (action) flirting, (word) defiance, (phrase) free will, Showtime: Thank Goodness - (phrase) Happy Ending, Lyric Alley: My head is spinning and it won't bail out, A Year In Entertainment: Song: "Hey Ya!" by OutKast - (dialogue) "Don't try to fight this feeling.", Liza's Loves: Widow's Kiss - Write about someone moving on, Jenny's Jovial Quotations: "What fresh hell is this?" - Dorothy Parker, the 365 Prompts Challenge: Title - One Door Opens, the Scavenger Hunt: Write a fic based around a character we don't get to see in the movies.

 _Word count:_ 1656

* * *

 **One Door Opens**

It started like any other Sunday. Fabian stepped outside his apartment to go grab lunch with his brother and sister — a tradition that had started back when Gideon and himself had ended up in different colleges while their sister stayed at home. He was on his phone, about to cross the street as he said, "Tell me something good, Gideon, or I swear -" and…

and…

And that was when everything changed.

He honestly didn't see it coming. In fact, he barely remembered what _it_ was.

What he did remember however, was a sharp pain in the back of his neck before everything went black.

And then he woke up, staring at his own face.

"What fresh hell is this?"

Having a twin, staring at his own face shouldn't have been anything unusual. And yet it was. It looked wrong somehow. Distorted, like someone had taken his features and ran them through a filter.

His watch was broken, he noted absently, and somehow that was the thing that made him realize what was really wrong with this scene.

His father had given him that watch. Fabian would never have let it break.

He stumbled back away and fell through the crowd, catching glimpses of brown eyes and reddish hair for a few instants before the crowd took all of his attention.

"Oh," he said quietly. He hadn't even noticed there were people there.

A short policeman started to cordon off the scene, moving the crowd away from his body, and Fabian stood there, loudly calling out for their attention.

They didn't hear him.

He even tried to make them see him — at first by attempting to grab onto their clothes or hands, and then when none of that worked, by waving his arm through their heads.

None of it worked. Fabian felt like he was going mad.

Logically, he knew he had to be dead. He had seen the state of what had to be his body — now covered with a white sheet — there was no way he could have survived that.

And yet, he didn't _feel_ dead. He felt… normal.

For a lack of anything better to do, he decided to stick by the officer who'd been taking care of his body. With — quite literally — morbid curiosity, Fabian shamelessly eavesdropped onto every conversation the man had.

That was how he learned that a driver had hit him head-on. A voice over the phone said he'd probably died on impact, too, which made sense considering how little Fabian recalled about the accident.

Gradually, everyone left the scene.

No, not everyone. The man from before was still there — the one with the reddish hair Fabian had spotted earlier.

He was the only one left apart from the law enforcement people, who were finally taking his body away. Fabian had no compulsion to follow them, and so he focused all his attention on his mystery man.

MM — short for Mystery Man — was kind of hot. Or at least he must be, because Fabian couldn't stop staring at him. He felt drawn to him like he had never been drawn to anyone before, almost hypnotized even, and he had crossed half the space separating them before he'd even realized it.

"Don't try to fight this feeling," a smooth baritone voice said. It sent shivers down Fabian's spine, and had his heart still been beating, he was sure it would have skipped a beat right then. "Just follow the light."

 _Wait, why did that sound familiar?_

Fabian's thoughts screeched to a halt, and so did his feet.

It was so weird. From up close, MM didn't look as irresistible as he had before. Oh, sure, he was still hot and all, and Fabian would jump that if he had half the chance, but he didn't have the… aura that had drawn Fabian in in the first place.

No, that was reserved for the beautiful, wonderful, _breathtaking_ white light that was pulsating behind him, bathing his body in its radiance.

Fabian stood unmoving in front of it.

 _Come_ , it said. _Come_. It had the warmth of his mother's embrace and the voice of all the things he loved and that made him happy, and Fabian's eyes watered in awe.

MM frowned and crossed his arms. "Why won't you go into the light? It's what you're supposed to do," he said petulantly.

Fabian snorted. "Yeah, I don't know who you've been talking to, but I'm not great on the whole 'do as you're told thing'. Who are you anyway?"

MM looked at him like he was stupid. Unfortunately, that led Fabian to discover that he had a thing for that.

"I'm your Reaper," MM said, somehow pronouncing the 'r' as an actual capital letter. "And you are supposed to go into that light."

Fabian shrugged. "Uh-uh, I don't think so." He eyed the light again, its whispers more tantalizing now than ever, and he shook his head. "What's your name anyway, reaper-boy?" he asked.

" _Reaper-boy_?" the reaper spluttered. "What…? Wait, you know what? Nevermind." He sighed. "My name's Edgar Bones — not that any of this matters, since _you're going to go into that light_ ," he continued in a very pointed tone.

"Edgar?" Fabian said delightedly. "What kind of a reaper name is that?"

Edgar scowled. "It's _Bones_. That's the important part. Why does everyone keep focusing on the Edgar part?"

Probably because it was ridiculous, Fabian thought. Somehow, though he didn't feel like that conclusion would be welcome.

"Well, _Edgar_ , tell me — are all reapers as cute as you, or did I just get lucky?"

Edgar just stared at him blankly.

"What, no blushing?" Fabian pouted.

"Reapers are incapable of blushing," Edgar replied dryly. "We do not have blood."

"This totally means you'd have blushed if you did, though," Fabian pointed out, feeling triumphant.

He was grinning, he realized. It had been forever since he had last taken to someone this quickly — Fabian was sociable (though Gideon was by far the more sociable of the two of them) but he usually took him a while to truly warm up to people.

As far as he knew, the only other people he hadn't needed to warm up to were his siblings.

 _Oh god, his siblings._ His grin fell. Behind Edgar, the pulsating of the light became sharper, more urgent.

"I — What about my family?" Fabian asked, voice choked up.

Edgar's head tilted to the side in curiosity. "They're fine? All alive and accounted for at the moment."

"But I can't just _leave_ them," Fabian said, even as he breathed a sigh of relief at the news.

"You're dead," Edgar stated. "You can't help them, they can't help you. You'd be better off going into the light."

Fabian rolled his eyes. "That doesn't mean I can _leave them_ ," he repeated. "And don't think I didn't notice that you still haven't told me what that light _is_."

"It's just the light," Edgar replied. It's where you go when you die."

"But what's on the other side?"

The reaper shrugged. "Heaven? Hell? Whichever afterlife concept you adhere to? Is that reason enough for you to go in?" His head snapped to the side and he winced. "I can't stay here all day, you know."

"What, you're on a schedule or something?" Fabian joked.

Edgar shot him an annoyed look. "Yes, actually. Death waits for no man."

Fabian bit his lips and chanced another look toward the light. It looked as appealing as ever, but something held him back.

Someone.

(Several someones, actually. Despite what his family often said, even he wasn't crazy enough to drop everything for the first pretty boy he saw.)

"What if I stayed here?" he thought out loud.

Edgar blinked, mouth falling open in disbelief. "You what?"

The more he thought about it, the more he liked the idea. "Yeah, what if I just, didn't follow the light or whatever? What if I stayed on Earth?"

"What would you even do? No one else can see you?"

"... You can," Fabian replied, a smile growing on his lips. " _You_ can see me."

"No."

"I could stay with you!"

"I said _no_."

"It's a great idea."

"It's a terrible idea."

"Come on, what's the problem?" Fabian asked, grinning widely now. He felt alive, bantering with Edgar, and he didn't want to lose that. Maybe going through the light would be better, but it would also mean losing this — whatever _this_ was — before it could even start.

And Fabian found that he wasn't ready to do that. He looked at Edgar with defiance, daring him to come up with an excuse.

"It's not done," the reaper finally spluttered. "You're a _human soul_ , you're not supposed to _linger_. Who knows what could happen to you?"

Fabian crossed his arms. "Well, I'm staying either way — I have free will and I'm exercising it. I guess you'll just have to take me with you then, to monitor me. See if anything happens…" He winked.

Edgar gaped.

Fabian raised an eyebrow at him. "I'm not joking. I'll do it." And, pointedly, he turned his back to the light.

It hurt. It was a dull kind of ache though, like pulling a muscle. Fabian could bear it.

Edgar was still gaping. He only stopped when he caught Fabian staring, at which point he snapped his mouth shut and glared at him. " _Fine_ ," he said bitingly. "You can come with me. But only for now!" he hastened to add.

Fabian schooled his enthusiasm very carefully as he nodded.

"Of course," he said, fingers crossed behind his back. "It's just for now."

He was pretty sure Edgar wasn't fooled, but he let Fabian follow him anyway.

And in his book? That counted as a happy ending — or well, the closest thing to it he could get, seeing as he was dead.


	10. set my soul alight

Written for Hogwarts' Meetcute Marathon: Although A normally goes to the cafe on Thursday evenings, A's sibling (or close friend) had called in tears, and s/he had been forced to miss it. So instead A goes the next evening, sitting down at a table with a fresh cup of tea, and then abruptly realised that Friday night was Speed Dating night as B slides into the chair opposite and says, "They say you and I only have five minutes, but I can tell we're going to need longer.".

Also for the Insane House Challenge: Plot Point - Relaxing after a hard day, Serpent Day: Australian scrub python- (word) luxury, the Writing Club - Disney Challenge: A Whole New World - Write about a date that the characters don't want to end, Showtime: As Long As You're Mine - (dialogue) "I've fallen under your spell.", Days of the Month: Pink Day - Write about someone who likes pink, Lyric Alley: I'm a little bit slow, A Year In Entertainment: Movie: Mean Girls - (color) Pink, Jenny's Jovial Quotes: "You moon the wrong person at an office party, and suddenly you're not 'professional' any more.", the 365 Prompts Challenge: Word - Repeat.

 _Word count:_ 1006

* * *

 **set my soul alight**

Edgar sat down at his usual table with a long sigh. His back cracked as he settled into his chair — the best one in the cafe (and yes, he had tried them all before deciding on this one) — and he quickly hailed a waiter for his customary beer.

As he waited for the man to return with his drink, Edgar's eyes wandered to the other people in the cafe.

It was considerably more busy than he was used to, but then again, he usually came on Thursday evenings instead of Friday nights. Alas, he had been unable to make it yesterday — his brother had called in a panic because he'd lost his cat, and Edgar had had to go help him find the damn thing. By the time they had, it had been too late to go back outside, and Edgar had ended up getting dinner with his brother instead.

But Edgar liked this cafe and his weekly beer too much to let go of it entirely, and so he'd just decided to switch nights for once. It is, after all, the one luxury he can afford, and his one moment in the week where he can just unwind.

After all, what could it hurt?

.

Edgar was nursing his drink when a tall red-haired man slid down into the seat in front of him.

"Hey, so I know the rules say we only got five minutes, but I've fallen under your spell, so what do you say we ignore that?" The man grinned, showing perfect white teeth, and extended a hand over the table.

A little overwhelmed, Edgar just blinked and shook his hand.

"I'm Fabian, by the way," the man said, shifting a little in his seat.

"Edgar."

Fabian smiled delightedly. "Edgar," he repeated, and the word sounded sinful in his mouth. "Ed-gar," he purred, rolling the letters on his tongue like he was savoring them. "I like it. So, _Edgar_ , tell me a little more about you now."

Blushing, Edgar replied, "There isn't much to say. I'm nobody, really."

Fabian's brown eyes softened, turning into something liquid and warm. "No one's just 'nobody'," he said.

And somehow, the conversation flowed easily from that point forward.

Fabian made him laugh, telling him stories about his work — each more ridiculous and unbelievable as the other.

"I swear, you moon the wrong person at an office party, and suddenly you're not 'professional' anymore," he was saying, the tail end of a story about the last time he had invited his brother to one of his parties, and Edgar laughed so hard he almost choked on his drink.

"I don't believe you," he said, shaking his head as he laughed. "This can't have actually happened, there's no way."

Fabian shook his head, giving him a pitying look. "I assure you, it did. This isn't exactly the kind of thing I can forget."

"I can imagine," Edgar replied with a huff of laughter. "God, did you really…"

"Lose my pants?" Fabian laughed. "Yup," he said, popping the 'p' cheerfully. "It wasn't my finest moment."

He paused, sipping at his drink — a pink monstrosity he had ordered earlier ("What, you've never seen a man who likes pink before? I'll have you know it's a very manly color.") — and took a look around.

Swallowing the last dregs of his beer, Edgar did the same.

The place was far quieter than it had been — far emptier, too. In fact, the atmosphere was no much closer to the coziness Edgar was used to, where maybe half the tables were occupied.

Evidently, it was far more shocking to Fabian.

"Holy shit," he breathed out, eyes widening in surprise, "where did everyone go?"

"Home, I'd assume," Edgar said dryly, index tracing the edge of his cup absently. "People don't usually stay here forever, you know."

Fabian rolled his eyes at him. "No, I know that, but I meant… I was here with this speed-dating service, and they're just _gone_." He looked around, face falling in confusion as he apparently failed to find what he wanted to see. "I don't understand."

He frowned and refocused on Edgar. "For that matter, how is it that no one bothered us? I mean, not that I mind — I did plan on ignoring the rules with you tonight, but I didn't expect them to just go with it."

"And you're just realizing that now?" Edgar asked disbelievingly. Taking a quick look at his phone, he said, "It's been almost three hours."

Fabian gaped. "That's not possible. I would have noticed." But as he checked his phone, he saw that Edgar was right — it had been almost three hours since they had started talking.

"I don't understand," he repeated.

Edgar looked away, eyes falling down to the table. He winced. "Err, that might be my fault actually," he said. "I — Uhm, I'm not actually part of this speed-dating thing. Surprise?" He displayed his open hands with an awkward silent _tah-dah_.

When Fabian stayed silent, he hastened to add, "I'm sorry, it's just — I usually come here on Thursdays and I never even knew Fridays were speed-dating nights here, and I would have said something but you were —" He paused, biting his lips as he blushed. "I liked spending this time with you," he admitted. "I didn't want it to end."

"Your table isn't part of the speed dating circuit," Fabian finally said in an even tone.

"...No?" Edgar replied, feeling tentatively hopeful.

"No one interrupted us because you didn't have a time limit," Fabian continued.

Edgar nodded.

"And I just invited myself over like a crazy person, didn't it?"

"A little crazy's never hurt anyone," Edgar replied. He was smiling. "Trust me, if I didn't want you there, I would have let you know."

Fabian's eyes sparkled. "Oh, really? Does that mean you like me enough for a second date?"

Feeling a little mischievous, Edgar replied, "That depends."

"On?"

"On how this one ends."


	11. follow me home

Written for Hogwarts' Meet Cute Marathon: A's parents have been hassling them with the same old thing for years: "why haven't you found someone yet?" Not wanting to spend another aggravating Christmas dinner with the family alone, A calls up a friend and tells the friend that they need a date to take to dinner. As a result, the friend sends an acquaintance, B, to pretend to be a loving partner of six months.

Also for the Writing Club - Count Your Buttons: Toothbrush, Lyric Alley: I'm just a believer, Television Show of the Month: Dr. Temperance "Bones" Brennan: (AU) Author, (item) book, (character), Marlene McKinnon, Liza's Love: Old Pal - Write about old friends, Jenny's Jovial Quotations: "This writing business. Pencils and whatnot. Overrated, if you ask me." - Winnie the Pooh, Serpent Day: Pit viper- (word) tidy, the Insane House challenge: Trope - Fake Dating, the 365 Prompts challenge: Job - Writer, the Gobstone Club: Pink Stone - Deception, Accuracy: (trope) Fake Relationship, Power: (food) Bacon, Technique: (color) Gold, Library Lovers: The Fault in Our Stars - John Green, (plot point) Meeting someone famous, (word) Metaphor, (word) Infinity.

 _Word count:_ 3749

* * *

 **follow me home**

"So we'll see you on Christmas, right?"

Absently, Fabian nodded, before he realized that his mother couldn't hear him over the phone. Blushing, he stuttered, "Yes, of course. You know me — I'd never miss it."

His mother laughed. "That's true. In any case, please make sure that twin of yours gets there on time for once, alright? You know how Aunt Muriel hates that."

"Yes, Mum," Fabian replied faithfully. "We wouldn't want to disappoint Aunt Muriel," he said dryly.

"Hush you," he mother replied, though Fabian could hear the smile in her voice. Clearly, she still was as fond of the old woman as her children were. "Have some respect for your elders."

They chatted for a little while after that before she bid him goodbye.

"Oh, and before I forget — bring that boyfriend of yours, okay? We're all dying to meet him." And she hung up, leaving Fabian to stare at his phone in a panic.

"Oh, shit," he whispered, quickly wondering if maybe he couldn't fake some kind of grievous injury to get out of this dinner after all.

It wasn't like he had meant to invent a fake boyfriend. It had just sort of happened.

After years of having to endure overly concerned comments about the state of his love life — not that Gideon's was any better, since his brother seemed unable to maintain a relationship for more than a couple of months (though apparently even having a relationship in the first place was enough to reassure the family that he was happy) — he'd cracked one day, and told them he was seeing someone.

"It's all very new," he'd said as a way to get out of any further questioning. "We're taking it slow."

Somehow, he had even managed to get out of giving out a name.

Unfortunately, it seemed that this charade was about to end. Fabian moaned loudly and let his hand drop on the table. It hurt, but for a few blissful seconds, it distracted him from his idiocy.

"I'm screwed," he said. His mother's words — _bring that boyfriend of yours, okay?_ — echoed in his mind ceaselessly.

She had sounded so happy about it too, Fabian couldn't bear to disappoint her. Which she would be if he didn't find someone to bring to their Christmas dinner.

It only left him with one option, really: find someone to play as his date for the holidays.

Sighing, he picked up his phone again and scrolled through his contacts. Among of all them all, there had to be someone who could help him out with this.

His eyes stopped on _McKinnon, Marlene_ , and he slowly let out a sigh of relief. He didn't know why he hadn't thought of her earlier.

Despite being younger than him by several years, Marlene had befriended him and the rest of the Prewett clan, as she called them, easily — to the point that for a time, he'd had to field questions about when he'd just man up and ask her out.

He hadn't spoken to her in a couple of weeks, but they were old friends, and Marlene was perfect for this. She was a bit of a gossip — which you would never guess unless you knew her very well — and she knew virtually everyone.

If she couldn't find him someone to date for his family's Christmas dinner, no one could.

.

Marlene was very amused by Fabian's predicament, but she agreed to help him once she was done laughing.

"You're in luck," she said. "I know just the guy. I'll give him your number, he'll contact you. You can sort out the rest between the two of you."

"Thank you," Fabian breathed out. "You're a lifesaver. I owe you one."

"And don't you forget it." Marlene laughed, but then someone called out her name and she bid him goodbye.

It was only later, much later, as he waited for Marlene's mystery man to contact him, that he realized he had no idea what he was getting into.

What kind of person just agreed to be some stranger's date?

 _The same kind who begs strangers to be their date in the first place,_ Fabian's mind supplied him with, which… point.

In the end, he decided to trust Marlene. She wouldn't send him some crazy person, after all.

Still, by the time his phone finally vibrated with a new message, Fabian's hands were shaking so bad he almost didn't manage to open the text.

 _Hi_ , it said. _You're Fabian, right? Marlene gave me your number._

 _I'm Edgar._

 _Edgar Bones_.

 _She said you needed someone to go with you to a dinner for Christmas?_

Fabian stared at the texts for a long time, heart hammering in his chest.

This was real. God, this was real. He was about to show up to his parents' house with some guy he hadn't even met yet.

His fingers still shook so badly typing was a nightmare, but Fabian forced himself to write an answer anyway.

 ** _Hi._**

He hesitated about the next message for a long time, before merely sending:

 ** _Thanks for doing this. What did Marlene tell you?_**

The answer was almost instantaneous.

 _Just that she had found a way to get me out of my family's Christmas dinner_. _And that you needed someone to go with you to some dinner_.

Fabian cursed low beneath his breath.

He felt terribly awkward typing his next answer.

 ** _My mother wants me to bring my boyfriend_. _Only I don't have a boyfriend. And that's where you're supposed to come in._**

And then, worried that it sounded too presumptuous, he quickly sent another message.

 ** _I'd totally understand if you don't want to do this_.**

This time, Edgar took much longer to reply, and Fabian stared at the three little dots on his screen until he felt like he was going mad.

 _So you need a fake boyfriend._

 ** _Yeah. Is that weird? It's weird, isn't it_?**

God, he was rambling — he'd never rambled over text before.

 _It's a little bit weird_ , Edgar texted back. _I didn't think people actually did that in real life._

 ** _Well now you know that they do_** , Fabian replied, adding a laughing emoji.

Edgar stayed silent for what felt like forever, before finally texting back, _Fine. I'll do it._

 ** _Wait, for real?_**

 _Yes,_ Edgar replied, ' _for real'._

 ** _Omg, thank you so much!_**

Fabian also added a hug emoji, which he also multiplied by an infinity symbol for good measure, grinning as Edgar then sent two texts that arrived almost simultaneously.

 _You're welcome._

 _So, how do you want to do this?_

They kept texting for a while, during which they eventually decided that Edgar would pick Fabian up an hour before they had to arrive at his parents' house.

 ** _Shouldn't we meet earlier_?** Fabian asked tentatively.

 _We should_ , Edgar admitted, _but I'm swamped at work. Deadlines, you know?_

 ** _I feel you. What do you do for a living?_**

 _I'm a writer,_ Edgar replied.

 ** _Wow really?_**

 _Wait, of course, really. I just… Wow, I've never met a writer before._

 ** _Did you write anything I'd know?_**

When Edgar only stayed silent, Fabian added:

 ** _You don't have to answer if it makes you uncomfortable_.**

 _No, it's fine. I'm just not used to speaking about my work with people who don't already know of it._

 _And I don't know… Have you heard of_ The Dark Mark? _That's my most recent work._

 _It's a thriller._

 _I write thrillers._

Fabian smiled at his screen. Apparently, he wasn't the only one who rambled over text. He searched his mind for a book by that title but found nothing.

Making a mental note to look into it, he sent another message.

 ** _No, sorry._**

 ** _In my defense, I don't read a lot._**

 _It's fine. I didn't really expect you to know about it._

 _But yeah, anyway, the deadline for my next manuscript is coming up so I'm going to be very busy over the next couple of weeks._

 _Sorry._

Fabian tried not to feel too disappointed as he texted back.

 ** _Sure._**

 ** _Good luck with your writing then, I guess?_**

 _Thanks._

They ended their conversation shortly after that — Edgar had to go back to his writing and Fabian unfortunately had some files he had meant to file over the weekend, and he had procrastinated long enough.

He sent Edgar is address and put a reminder in his phone for two weeks later, when Edgar was supposed to come pick him up. He didn't think he was likely to forget, but he'd rather be too vigilant in this than not enough. The last thing he needed was for Edgar to arrive while Fabian was still getting ready. This way, he could tidy up everything before Edgar showed up.

.

It wasn't until Tuesday, two days after Edgar had agreed to go to his parents' Christmas party with him, that Fabian finally found the time to buy his book.

He found it easily, the glossy cover proclaiming in gold lettering _Winner of the Man Booker Prize_.

Fabian whistled. "Damn."

He bought the book and started reading it that very night, and quickly enough Fabian became engrossed in the adventures of Detective Moody as he hunted a killer who liked to leave his mark painted over his victims' front door.

The intrigue was chilling, but also so enthralling that Fabian couldn't put it down. He read the book in one night, blinking blearily at his phone as his alarm rang just as he was finishing the last chapter, where Moody finally caught up to the culprit — or so he thought.

Fabian quickly shut down his alarm, and after only a quick moment of hesitation, he texted Edgar, not even caring for proper syntax or grammar in his excitement.

 ** _Omg, pls tell me ur doing a sequel 4_ The Dark Mark.**

 ** _I need it._**

 ** _How could you end it like this?_**

 ** _Sorry if this bothers you, but I just finished, and damn man, that was amazing._**

When Edgar didn't immediately reply, Fabian put down his phone and reluctantly started to get ready for his day.

He was in such a daze, mind still on Moody and his quest for the truth, that he almost put his toothbrush in his right eye instead of his mouth.

He forced himself to pay more attention to things after that, though he could tell this was going to be a difficult day when he wandered into his kitchen and started to fry some bacon — only to realize that he'd brushed his teeth _before_ eating breakfast.

Luckily, half a pot of coffee later, he felt almost awake enough to function.

He was still so relieved to get told he was on desk duty for the day when he arrived at the precinct that his boss, Barty Crouch, asked him if he was sick.

"Just tired, sir," Fabian replied with his best shit-eating grin, and Crouch huffed before walking away and leaving Fabian to his work.

He spent the rest of the day filing reports and checking his phone obsessively for Edgar's answer.

He caught himself doodling his name on his table more than once — luckily it was nothing an eraser couldn't fix — and every time his phone vibrated from a text, Fabian jumped in his seat and hurried to check it, only to let out a disappointed sigh when he saw that Edgar wasn't the sender.

Edgar finally replied while Fabian was on his way home and struggling to keep his eyes open.

 _Hey, sorry for taking so long to answer, my phone was off._

Fabian was already typing before he'd finished reading Edgar's message.

 ** _No worries, I get it._**

 ** _I should have turned off mine too, I probably would have gotten more done that way._**

 _And yes, I am working on a sequel, you can rest easy._

 _I'm really flattered to hear that you liked it though._

 ** _Liked it? R u kidding?_**

 ** _I loved it._**

 ** _It was amazing. I wasn't able to put it down!_**

Fabian's fingers hovered over the keys, hesitant, before he typed:

 ** _Glad to hear about that sequel!_**

 _Wait, did you buy my book after we talked?_

 ** _Yesterday, actually._**

 ** _I read it last night._**

 _Omg, did you even sleep?_

Fabian chuckled, grinning delightedly as Edgar broke his usually perfect grammar.

 ** _Nope._**

 ** _But luckily for me, coffee exists._**

 ** _Pretty sure that's what most of my blood is rn._**

 _I'd say I'm sorry but I'm not. I'm glad you liked my story — though please don't make it a habit to neglect your sleep like this._

 ** _I swear._**

 ** _Once was enough for me._**

It really was, too. Fabian wasn't a teenager anymore, able to just stay up all night whenever he wanted to.

He was so focused on his texting that he almost missed his bus finally pulling in at his station, and he had to hurriedly push his way past the crowd until he finally managed to stumble outside, the fresh air a welcome change from the saturated heat he'd endured inside the bus.

He only managed to get back to checking his phone once he was back inside his own home, only to find that Edgar had sent him another text warning him he'd be offline from now on.

Fabian would have been disappointed, except that this meant he could just collapse on his bed and sleep, catching up with the night he'd spent up reading.

As he fell asleep, it occurred to him that this might have been Edgar's intention all along, and his heart fluttered oddly in his chest.

.

The days seemed to fly by and before Fabian really knew it, it was Christmas and time to get ready for the party.

Time for him to meet Edgar face to face too. They had texted on and off over the past two weeks, and every passing day had Fabian actually more eager to meet Edgar in person.

Not that anything could have really prepared him for the moment he opened his door and found him on the other side.

"Hi," was all Fabian managed before his brain shut down and he gaped.

Edgar was hot — no, worse than that, he was _cute_.

He was maybe half an inch taller than Fabian himself, and he was wearing a suit that made Fabian's knees go weak.

He was a redhead too, Fabian noted absently — though luckily for him his hair wasn't anywhere near as vivid of a red as Fabian's — with eyes a brown so light they almost looked gold.

"You're Fabian, right?" Edgar was starting to fidget on the doorstep when Fabian stayed silent. "I am at the right place, aren't I?"

Fabian blinked and shook his head, pasting on a smile. "Ah, yes, of course. Just give me a second to grab the gifts and we can be on our way."

Edgar relaxed. "Of course. Take your time."

As he went to collect his things, Fabian shot his twin a quick text.

 ** _I hope you're on your way already. Mum'll kill you if you're late._**

He could almost see the eyeroll in Gideon's answer.

 **How's the date?**

 **Very hot, if you must know.**

 **Very, very hot.**

Gideon didn't reply to that, but Fabian didn't expect him to.

Edgar was still standing in the entrance when Fabian returned barely five minutes later, looking as delicious now as he had before.

"Do you want me to…?" Edgar asked, nodding at the bags Fabian was holding.

"It's fine," Fabian replied, shaking his head. "They're not as heavy as they look."

Edgar shot him a dubious look but he nodded, and together they went down the stairs and walked to Edgar's car.

"We can say they're from the two of us," Fabian said as Edgar opened the trunk, the gesture allowing him to see the muscles in Edgar's arms flex pleasingly underneath the lines of his suit.

"Oh," Edgar said.

Fabian turned to face him, biting back a smile when he saw the red flush in Edgar's cheeks.

"What is it?"

"Just… I bought something from your parents too."

Fabian's heart skipped a beat. "Shit, my parents are gonna love you," he said.

Edgar smiled back awkwardly. "Isn't that good?"

"It's fantastic," Fabian replied, lips pulling into a painful smile. "It means this will be easy — but then they'll kill me when I tell them it didn't work out."

Edgar stayed silent while Fabian put the gifts away. He didn't speak again until they were pulling away from the parking spot.

"What if you didn't? Tell them that it 'didn't work out', I mean," Edgar said, fingers drumming awkwardly on the steering wheel.

Fabian stared at him, mouth dry. "What?" he asked, voice choked up.

Edgar's shoulders squared defensively and he kept his eyes trained to the road before them. "You're not seeing anyone else, are you? Well, me neither — and I like you. So why don't we just… see where this goes?"

"This isn't exactly normal first date material," Fabian replied. He found it hard to focus over the sound of his heart hammering in his chest.

Edgar shrugged. "I say normal is what we make of it. So, what do you say?

The word "Yes," fell from his mouth before he even had the time to think it.

Edgar smiled back, and the rest of the ride was filled with idle chatter and so many smiles Fabian's cheeks started to hurt.

It went by too quickly, and suddenly, from what seemed out of nowhere, they were pulling up in front of his parents' house.

.

"And you must be Fabian's boyfriend," Fabian's mother, Aileen, said. She greeted Edgar with a bright smile, patting him on the arm. "It's a pleasure. We've all been dying to meet you — and that's not a metaphor."

"A euphemism, you mean," Edgar corrected.

Aileen looked startled, eyes widening. "Why, I do believe you're right." She turned to Fabian. "You picked a smart one for once!"

Fabian flushed pink. " _Mum_!"

Aileen's smile widened. "That'll teach you not to tell us anything about him before bringing him home!" she said, sending her son an admonishing look before turning back to Edgar.

"Come on, I'll introduce you to everyone."

Edgar sent him an alarmed look as they followed.

"Sorry," Fabian whispered. "I forgot to warn you: my mother's a bit of a force of nature. Best to just go along with whatever she says."

"I'm starting to get that," Edgar whispered back. His breath tickled against Fabian's ear and Fabian shivered. "Anything else I should know?" he asked in the same tone of voice.

"Stay away from my Aunt Muriel — she's an old hag who loves to remind us about 'the good old days' (not that anyone knows what those are anymore) — and try to avoid my cousin Bilius. He's nice, but he'll talk your head off about finances and all the things you don't want to know about. My sister Molly is spending the night with her husband's family, but she said she'd call us later on, say hi to everyone."

"Got it," Edgar replied, head snapping to attention as they entered the living-room and Aileen started to introduce everyone.

"I think your mother's stolen your man," an amused voice said in his ear.

Fabian turned around, grinning. "Dad! It's good to see you."

"It's good to see you too, son," Reginald Prewett said, his own grin revealing wrinkles around his eyes and mouth that had been mostly absent in his wife. He nodded toward Edgar, whose eyes kept coming back to Fabian, barely concealed panic shining through them.

"Ah, Dad…"

Reginald chuckled. "Go on, son. Go rescue him before the wolves have him."

Fabian huffed a laugh of his own before rejoining Edgar and his mother. He fell at Edgar's side like he belonged there, lacing their fingers together.

Edgar squeezed his hand tight but his shoulders unwound almost instantly, causing pride to pool low in Fabian's stomach.

Soon after that, they were done meeting the relatives, and they sat down on a sofa, their bodies pressed so close Edgar was almost on Fabian's lap.

Gideon, who had pushed them toward those seats, wiggled his eyebrows at him. Fabian glared back, which only caused his twin's grin to widen.

"So, Edgar," Gideon said, "why don't you tell us more about you? Since my brother didn't seem it fit to do that himself." Fabian glared at him harder, but Gideon continued, unbothered. "What do you do in life?"

"I'm a writer," Edgar said. This time, Fabian was close enough to catch the slight stutter in his tone, and the way his cheeks darkened, just a little.

"Oh, really?" Aileen asked, eyes blown wide with curiosity. "Anything we might have heard of?"

Just as Edgar was about to answer, Aunt Muriel interrupted with a loud scoff. "This writing business. Pencils and whatnot. Overrated, if you ask me."

Aileen's smile turned fixed and her eyes grew cold. "Now, Muriel, you can't just say that." She turned to Edgar. "I'm sorry. Please do go on," she said pointedly.

"He wrote _The Dark Mark_ ," Fabian replied before Edgar could. "It won the Man Booker Prize," he added proudly.

It was only because he was watching her closely that Fabian caught the way Muriel's lips pursed thinly even as she leaned back in her chair. Obviously, even though she still didn't recognize writing as a worthwhile endeavor — Fabian had heard her talk about what she considered 'worthwhile' often enough to recognize when she was readying herself for a lecture — she recognized that winning such a prize was a distinction she couldn't take away from Edgar.

It made Fabian viciously glad.

"Wow, congratulations," his mother was saying to a blushing Edgar.

"Wait," Gideon interjected. Fabian rolled his eyes, steeling himself for whatever idiocy his brother would spout this time. "Fabian, you read his book? You _hate_ reading," he stated disbelievingly.

"I don't _hate_ reading," Fabian spluttered. "I just… don't do it often."

"Try never," Gideon replied, nodding knowingly in Edgar's direction. "You must be something special if my brother's actually _reading_ for you."

Fabian's cheeks burned and he buried his head in Edgar's shoulder with a loud groan.

Fabian didn't catch Edgar's answer, but he did hear the way his mother cooed at it.

He raised his head, smile turning soft at the edges as his eyes caught Edgar's. "He is," he said, answering Gideon's earlier claim. "He is something special."


	12. Falling For You

Written for Hogwarts' Meet Cute Marathon: A is rolling into the station of a brand new town, feeling nervous about not knowing anyone or where they should be going next - and just as A steps off the train, their bag catches on something and rips open! Contents spill everywhere. B notices and stops a (somewhat embarrassing) item from rolling onto the tracks and hands it over to A with a questioning look.

Also for the 365 Prompts Challenge: Plot Point - Meeting on a bus/train/transport, Serpent Day: Cascabel - (object) scarf, the Writing Club - Character Appreciation: (Trait) Accepting of those that are different than him, Disney Challenge: One Jump Ahead - Write about a close call, Count Your Buttons: Headphones, Lyric Alley: When everyone's around, A Year in Entertainment: TV: House - (object) Cane, Liza's Loves: Pornstar - Write about someone in the adult entertainment industry, the Insane House Challenge: Title - Falling For You.

 _Word count:_ 1027

* * *

 **Falling For You**

Edgar hated taking the train. It was always too crowded and too noisy, and whenever he had to take it through lunch hours, like he had now, there would always be someone who thought bringing egg salad on a train with no ventilation system was a brilliant idea.

He could usually manage the trip through careful (and loud) application of his headphones and standing with his head as close to the window as he could, nose buried in his scarf to block out the smells.

It wasn't exactly comfortable, but it was still better than nothing.

But all this combined in making Edgar very eager to get off his train, to the point that he had more than once left something behind and been forced to head back to retrieve it.

But today wouldn't be one of those days. Today, Edgar had been careful to gather all his belongings around him, so that the instant the train pulled into his station he could be the first one to get off of it.

Luckily, today he only carried a briefcase, so that was easy.

That didn't mean he didn't stress over it, fingers drumming against his thigh as the train finally started to slow down. The woman in the seat next to his kept sending him an annoyed look, to which Edgar only replied absently with an apologetic look of his own.

He was nearly vibrating off his skin by the time the train finally did stop, fingers itching to punch the button to open the doors.

But once he did, and the fresh, _pure_ air finally hit his face, it felt like deliverance.

Edgar was so busy inhaling his first _breathable_ lungful of air that he didn't notice he was blocking the way for the other passengers to get off the train — at least not until someone pushed him, causing him to stumble and fall.

He was already imagining himself getting trampled — what a sad end that would be, though his brother would definitely laugh at him forever for it — when a hand shot out and caught him just before he hit the ground.

His briefcase, however, wasn't so lucky, and it broke open against the pavement with a loud noise, spilling its contents all over the dirty gray concrete.

"Thank you," Edgar breathed as he steadied himself.

He raised his head to look at his rescuer and his breath caught in his chest.

Mirthful brown eyes filled with concern twinkled at him. "Hey, you're alright?"

Voiceless, Edgar nodded. Even though looking away from this Apollo — this Adonis — was the last thing he wanted to do, Edgar's eyes drifted down to his fallen briefcase.

To his shame, his savior's eyes followed him.

"Oh, do you need some help with that?" the man asked, absently tucking back behind his ear a strand of the reddest hair Edgar had seen out of a movie.

"Oh, no, it's fine really," Edgar hastened to answer, eyes widening in panic.

But it was too late, they were both already leaning down over Fabian's spilled belongings.

"I'm Fabian, by the way," the man offered, sending Edgar a coy smile that made his heart skip a beat.

"Edgar."

Through a string of luck, most of the contents of Edgar's briefcase were normal for once, or they could pass as such, as long as they weren't too closely inspected.

He couldn't imagine how much more awkward this situation would be if he'd been carrying his firefighter costume, or worse, that pink thong his coworkers had given him as a gag gift and the silver cane it went with.

But he was carrying his handcuffs, and those, combined with the amount of leather now spilled out onto the concrete didn't really leave him with many opportunities to explain himself without going "Hi, I'm a stripper!" which was something he usually avoided saying from the get-go.

He was the first one to spot the telltale glint of silver metal, but before he could reach for it, Fabian fished it out, letting it dangle from his fingertips and staring blankly ahead.

"O- _kay_ ," he said, eyebrows raising so high they almost vanished. "I'm not gonna ask."

"You'd better not," Edgar hissed threateningly as he snatched the handcuffs from Fabian and stuffed them into his back pocket. It might not be very comfortable, but it'd be safer.

Fabian smiled at him disarmingly, causing Edgar to huff out a frustrated sigh.

Together they made quick work of gather what was left of Fabian's stuff. When they finally stood back up, Edgar's back thanked him for it and he took a moment to roll his shoulders, eyes falling shut as he forgot for a moment that he had company.

He opened his eyes to find Fabian staring at him, mouth hanging slightly open. It fell shut with an audible click.

"What?" Edgar asked defensively, cheeks heating up.

"Nothing," Fabian replied. His eyes fluttered around Edgar's face before finally settling for a point over his right shoulder. "I just… I know I said I wasn't going to ask, but… Really, I have to know. Why the handcuffs?"

Edgar glared at him. He would have crossed his arms if he hadn't been holding onto the remains of his briefcase. "They're for work," he spat out.

"Oh, okay." For an instant, it seemed like that would be it. Fabian's shoulders deflated a little, but then they suddenly perked up again.

Edgar choked on his sigh of relief.

"So… Is it like, work work or work _work_?" he asked, wiggling his eyebrows a little.

" _Work_ ," Edgar replied bitingly, starting to stride away. "Just work."

For an instant, there was blissful silence, but for some reason, Edgar's steps faltered nonetheless. _Had Fabian been offended?_ he found himself wondering. _Was I too harsh?_

He shouldn't have worried. Quick steps caught up to him in no time and Fabian's voice resonated through his ears again.

Edgar sighed, and pretended not to notice, but he slowed his walk enough for Fabian to keep up.

Just until we leave this train station, he told himself. This is just temporary.

Yeah. Somehow, he wasn't convinced.


	13. seek and you shall find

Written for Hogwarts' Meet Cute Marathon: I came to get tools to do some landscaping and you're hiding in my shed after you got inadvertently sucked into a game of Hide and Seek with the local kids.

Also for Serpent Day: Rainbow boa - (AU) Everybody Lives, Writing Club - Character Appreciation: (Setting) Shed, Showtime: I'm Not That Girl - (word) Steal, Lyric Alley: I'm a little bit sheltered, Liza's Loves: Glitter Bomb - Write about a party, Library Lovers: Hunger Games - Suzanne Collins, (object) Bow and arrow, (word) Fire, (word) District, the Herbology Assignment - Task 2: Write about a plant being used for nefarious purposes, the Forty Days Challenge: No canon locations, the Insane House Challenge: Plot Point - Being smitten by someone beautiful, the 365 Prompts Challenge: Word - Glitter.

 _Word count:_ 1642

* * *

 **seek and you shall find**

The party was already well underway when Fabian noticed that one of the tables was leaning dangerously to the right side. Considering the weight it was holding, a little bending was no surprise, but with how many children were running around, that table as it stood meant that it was an accident waiting to happen.

As his sister Molly was overworked trying to greet everyone in the neighborhood — or so it seemed — and Gideon was God knew where doing God knew what, so with a long sigh, Fabian dove through the crowd and headed toward Molly's house.

She and her husband had just moved in — a lucky break for her family had led to an unexpected windfall, and they'd finally been able to upgrade to an actual house with enough bedrooms for all their kids _and_ themselves. Fabian and Gideon had come to help out with the boxes and corral the kids if need be (which, considering how much trouble his sister's kids got into, was pretty much guaranteed).

But as it turned out, they shouldn't have bothered. Arthur and Molly's new neighborhood was more than happy to welcome them warmly and with more food than Fabian felt he'd see in a lifetime.

Which was how Fabian had ended up in his current predicament: trying to duck back inside and to the back of the house, where the tool shed stood. He thought he remembered putting Arthur toolkit there — luckily for them his brother-in-law was quite the tinkerer — and with luck, it'd have something that could help fix that table before it crumbled.

By the time he reached the front door and finally, _finally_ managed to get in, Fabian was ready to just give up and admit defeat. Let that table fall, he thought, because I'm not going back out there.

But then two familiar streaks of red and orange ran past him, giggling loudly, and Fabian had to let go of that fantasy. He couldn't let his niece and nephews get hurt, after all, even if the little rapscallions would sooner set the place on fire than avoid possible chaos.

(Except for Percy. Percy was the only sensible ones out of all of his sister's children. Percy was a delight to babysit, unlike the twins who had somehow managed to tie him up the last time Molly had dropped them at his place.

They had used vines they had somehow pulled from the garden behind their house, and Fabian was fairly sure he still had the marks where the stems had painfully dug into his skin, and had spent the rest of the evening shooting at him with plastic bows and arrows while Fabian struggled to get out of his restraints.

Fabian did _not_ want to know where they'd gotten those. Or how.)

.

Luckily, once he'd ducked inside, the rest of the way was easy. There was no child to trip him up or spill soda all over his legs, and no well-meaning neighbor trying to introduce him to everyone, no matter how many times he said he was only here to help his sister move.

He found the shed easily. It was a very new thing, its pale wood still shiny with polish. It opened with an intricate handle made of wrought iron, and it was altogether way too fancy for his sister and her family.

(Knowing his niblings and his brother-in-law, Fabian gave it a week before it experienced some terrible accident leaving it charred and/or in pieces.)

It even still smelled new inside, Fabian noted as his nose started to itch.

He could feel the sneeze building up when something distracted him.

There was someone else in there. The shed had windows — as much as a shed could, anyway — and through it there was enough daylight filtering for Fabian to notice a shadow that couldn't belong to any of the boxes he and Arthur had put in here earlier. It was also too tall to belong to one of the kids running around the neighborhood, and Fabian felt his eyes narrow in suspicion.

"Show yourself," he ordered sharply. "I warn you," he continued, "there's nothing to steal here. Just nuts and bolts." He kept his tone even as he navigated between the boxes, and he swung around the last corner suddenly, hoping to catch the intruder red-handed.

And, oh, he caught him alright.

As soon as Fabian stepped in his line of sight, the man yelped loudly and he flailed, his arms catching against the pile of boxes he had been resting against.

Fabian only had a fraction of seconds to see brown eyes widen in horror before the whole pile just fell on him, burying him with loud clangs as their heavy metallic contents spill out.

For a moment, Fabian could only stand there, frozen. The man's leg — the only part of his body still visible — twitched, and he groaned loudly.

Fabian had never been so relieved to hear someone's groan of pain before.

"You alive down there?" he asked tentatively, his earlier caution forgotten. His heart pounded in his chest and his palms had started to sweat — oh god, what if something had happened to this guy, what would he _do_?

"... Barely," a voice came back after a short pause, but Fabian let out a sigh of relief.

The pile shifted as the man moved, and loud metallic noises echoed again as wrenches and other tools Fabian didn't recognize fell off him.

Kneeling, Fabian tried to help, though he felt very useless as the man sat up on his own, rubbing his shoulders and rolling his neck with a wince.

"Well, I definitely don't recommend doing this again," the man joked with a pained chuckle. "Getting buried under tools and… Wait, what are those…?" he trailed off, staring in confusion at the mess spilled around them.

Fabian almost burst into laughter, though he could understand the pause. Arthur had… odd tastes in what he found worth his time.

"Are those _plugs_?"

Fabian laughed. "Yeah, sorry. My brother-in-law has weird interests." And then, because he was tired of referring to his interlocutor as 'the man', he added, extending a hand, "I'm Fabian, by the way.

"Edgar," he replied, shaking Fabian's hand.

Edgar had a strong grip, Fabian noted. He wasn't sure why that mattered, but now that he had, he couldn't help but think about it.

His hand was smooth too — very smooth — and Fabian let go of it suddenly as he realized he'd been holding it for too long.

"Anyway," he started, clearing his throat awkwardly. He looked away, hoping the heat he could feel burning in his cheeks didn't show on his face.

"Anyway," he repeated, voice steadier this time, "what were you doing in my shed?"

Edgar flushed red, his eyes darting to the sides and back. "I'd rather not say, if you don't mind?"

"Well, now I'm curious," Fabian retorted. Somehow, his earlier suspicions hadn't returned. Some part of him felt like he could trust Edgar, for some obscure reason.

Edgar sighed. "I… Look, have you seen a little red-haired girl in pigtails running around like a military chief?"

Fabian was about to nod when he realized that Edgar probably wasn't talking about his niece Ginny.

"Aah, can't say I have, sorry."

"It's fine." Edgar's voice was tinged with relief. He stood up carefully, wincing again as he used the wall to help himself up.

"She's your daughter, then?" Fabian asked, feeling an odd cold spread through his stomach.

Edgar snorted. "God, no. My niece." He smiled wryly. "She's a force of nature — takes after her mother that way — and she decided I had to join in her Hide and Seek game. Though she's probably forgotten all about it by now," he trailed off, frowning.

He raised his head to stare at Fabian determinedly. "I'm sorry about coming in here. I just thought it'd be a good hiding place."

"It was," Fabian replied, smiling. "And don't worry about it, there was no harm done."

Edgar stared at him disbelievingly and Fabian laughed apologetically.

"Well, alright, _some_ harm was done," he corrected himself.

Edgar huffed.

"... To the plugs," Fabian added after a beat, biting his lips to keep from bursting into laughter at the betrayed look Edgar shot him.

"Sorry, sorry," Fabian said, grinning so wide it hurt. "I just couldn't resist. I…" His words caught in his throat.

By some stroke of luck, a beam of light had filtered through the window out in the corner of the shed. It fell right on Edgar's head, and it glittered in his hair, making it shine like a copper crown.

 _Oh_ , he thought, eyes widening as his heart sped up in his chest. _So that's what that was_.

His earlier grin eased into something softer. "What do you say I make it up to you?"

Edgar's eyes narrowed and he crossed his arms. "... _How_?"

"Let me take you out to dinner. Or lunch. Or even breakfast. I'm not picky." Fabian stopped himself before he could ramble on, eyes staring hopefully at Edgar.

Edgar, who looked a little shell-shocked. "Are you asking me out on a date?" he asked.

Fabian hid his discomfort behind a grin. "Yes. So, will you? Go out with me?"

Edgar shook his head, letting out a wry huff of laughter. "Sure," he said finally, shrugging. A half smile played on his lips. "Yeah, sure. I — Why not?"

It wasn't the ringing endorsement Fabian would have liked, but he _had_ buried the guy under plus and wrenches not half an hour ago.

That had to count for something.

Besides, Edgar _had_ agreed to the date — which meant Fabian could (and would) make it up to him.


	14. From This Day Forward

Written for Hogwarts' Meet Cute Marathon: My mother said I needed hobbies and i'm not big on sports so I joined this embroidery class and you're weirdly passionate about this and I didn't know my type included 60 year old grandmothers stuck in teenager bodies but apparently it does because at this point this class is my favourite part of the week.

Also for the Writing Club - Days of the Month: Sweater Day - Write about a modest person, Lyric Alley: But I don't wanna let it go, Serpent Day: Checkered garter snake - (character) Susan Bones, Play More Cards Event: Hearts - write a meet cute, Lent: Only minor characters, the Insane House Challenge: Title - From This Day Forward, the 365 Prompts Challenge: Item - Cardigan.

 _Word count:_ 1946

* * *

 **From This Day Forward**

"Thanks again for doing this, Edgar. I owe you one."

His sister looks exhausted and Edgar feels a twinge in his heart at the sight of it. "You owe me nothing," he corrects her gently. "Family doesn't owe family."

Her lips quirk up slightly, blue eyes lightening with relief. "Still, if there's anything you need…"

"I'll ask, I swear," he promises. "Now where's my favorite niece?"

"I'm your _only_ niece, Uncle Edgar," Susan replies smartly, and Edgar lets out a chuckle as he bops his index against her nose.

"And that's why you're my favorite." He winks.

Susan pulls back, rubbing her nose as she glares at him. " _Uncle Edgar_ ," she whines, and from her tone, one would think he'd committed some unforgivable crime.

Ignoring her for the moment, Edgar returns to his sister. She's watching them with fond exasperation, and Edgar finds himself smiling at her gently.

"We'll be fine," he assures her again. Ever since her husband died, she's been… adrift, in a way, and very protective of Susan. Not that Edgar wouldn't be, of course, were he in her place.

But he's missed his niece. They used to spend a lot more time one on one before the accident, and he takes it as a good sign that his sister feels ready to let Susan out of her sight again, even if it's just because she's too busy to look after her daughter for the afternoon.

"I know." She finally sighs, her hand coming to rest on her daughter's shoulder, gently tugging on her braid. "You'll be good for you Uncle, alright?"

Susan nods eagerly. "Of course I will, Mum."

"Good," she replies, smiling, before turning her head back to Edgar. "I'll try to be there by seven, but if I can't, would you mind…"

"She can stay the night," Edgar interrupts. "You know she's always welcome here."

"Thank you," his sister breathes.

Edgar resists the urge to roll his eyes somehow — he's stopped counting the number of times his sister's thanked him for doing something anyone would do a long time ago, and honestly, he's getting a little offended that she doesn't think he'd help her out when she needed it.

"You're welcome," he says instead.

It's only once her mother's gone that his niece, turning away from the road her mother's car had just sped away on, asks him, "So, are you really going to take me to my knitting lessons today?"

Edgar blinks. "Knitting lessons?"

"Oh, Mum didn't tell you?" She looks up at him innocently from between her eyelashes. "It's a new class. I started last month — Mum thought it'd be a good thing, after…" Her shoulders droop down, and Edgar understands instantly what she means by 'after'.

"Anyway," Susan continues before he gets the chance to say anything, a cheerful smile now painted on her face, "I really like it, and Mum says you have to take me."

With a sigh, Edgar relents. He would have taken her anyway — there is nothing he can refuse to his niece, and she knows it. She has him wrapped around her little finger.

There is a very good reason Susan likes to come over so much, and it isn't because he's a better cook than her mother (especially since that's not saying much).

"Fine," he says. He fishes his car keys out of his pocket and asks, "So, where are we going?"

Rocking on the ball of her feet, Susan rattles off an address. It's not too far from here, and the class in a little less than an hour — plenty of time to get there, then - but Susan insists they leave now anyway.

It's lucky they did, in the end. With only Susan to guide him, since she insists she "knows the road, Uncle Edgar, I swear this is a shortcut", they even almost end up being late.

He swings her backpack across his shoulder as they race toward the entrance of the building — a primary school, Edgar notes, and at least this is marginally better than the church basement he was half expecting.

The attendees, however, are pretty much exactly what he'd expect from a knitting class: old people, with only a handful of children Susan's age.

There's one teenager sitting sullenly at the back, and Edgar has the feeling the boy probably won't last long.

He's about to look down at his niece and ask her if she's alright to stay alone or if he should stick around for the lesson when the most beautiful man he's ever seen walks in, carrying a basket full of colorful balls of yarn.

He's ashamed to say he actually whines as he feels his knees go weak, his heart skipping right into overdrive.

"Who's this?"

He doesn't even realize he's spoken until his niece's lilting voice answers him.

"That's Mr. Fabian," she says, hero worship audible in her voice. "He's the teacher, and he's _amazing_."

 _Yes, that he is_ , Edgar thinks, staring shamefully.

Fabian wears a brown cardigan that Edgar rather thinks he has to have knitted himself — though it's very well made, fitting to the lines of his body perfectly (not that Edgar's looking, of course) — and he has the reddest hair of anyone Edgar has ever met.

It stands out like a beacon, drawing his eyes in, and his hands itch to touch and see if it really is as soft as it looks.

Fabian calls out the class to order, and his body moves on its own, grabbing a chair next to his niece.

Susan nudges him with, her elbow sharp as she glares up at him. "What are you still doing here?" she hisses as she gets out her wool and half-complete project. "You're supposed to wait outside if you're not in the class. That's what Mum always does."

Edgar is about to reply when a shadow falls over him, and Edgar looks up to find himself staring at a wide grin. His voice dies in his throat pitifully.

"Here to try out the class, then?" Fabian asks, still grinning. His eyes are very bright, and Edgar's heart pounds in his chest. Damn it, but he thought he had left this behind after college. He's too old for crushes.

"Yes," he blurts out nonetheless, at the same time as Susan replies, "No."

Fabian laughs.

It is a lovely sound, and Edgar falls deeper in.

"So, which is it?" Fabian asks, looking at them curiously. "Yes or no?"

"Yes," Edgar replies, aware that his cheeks are turning red as his niece stares at him disbelievingly.

"Awesome! We're always glad for some fresh blood!" Fabian says, winking as he clasps a hand over Edgar's shoulder. The contact only lasts an instant, but Edgar whimpers.

Somehow he finds it in himself to admit that he's not prepared at all, and that he has neither needles nor yarn.

Fabian laughs again. "That's fine," he replies. "That's why I keep this here," he adds, nodding at the basket he'd been carrying. "It's officially in case someone forgets something or runs out of thread before they mean to, but you can use it for this one time. It'll be easier, especially if you're beginning."

Edgar nods, voiceless again, and at Fabian's prompting, he gets up and goes to pick up a pair of needles and some thread.

Since yellow and black are his niece's favorite colors, he grabs those before returning to his seat. Fabian nods at him approvingly and Edgar swears he can feel another part of his self-respect die in agony as he trips on his own feet and only just barely manages not to fall.

The old lady sitting on his right pats his hand gently when he's sat down, before saying, merciless, "We've all been there, boy. Sorry to be the one to tell you this, but you don't stand a chance."

Edgar splutters, cheeks burning. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

The woman just pats him on the hand again before moving on to what Edgar thinks — well, guesses — might be some kind of sweater in the making.

His niece, in the meantime, appears to be three quarters through a black scarf, and Edgar finds himself looking down at his yarn and needle, thinking that he might be in a little over his head.

Just a little.

Luckily for him, that's when Fabian shows up.

"You're alright?" he asks, smile a softer version of his earlier grin, though it is not any less bright. "You seem to be a little lost over there."

Edgar chuckles, feeling more than a little awkward as he displays his yarn and needles. "I have no idea what to do," he confesses.

"Well, that's fine. I'm here to teach you, after all," Fabian replies. "Here, hold your needles like this," he says, wrapping his fingers around Edgar's to move them into the proper position.

His hands are warm and soft, and Edgar flushes harder. "Ah, thanks," he manages to say, voice strangled.

Fabian hums out a "You're welcome" before proceeding to demonstrate the rest of the process, hands still warm on Edgar's.

Progressively, he becomes aware that people are staring at them — or rather, in most cases, _glaring_ at him jealously.

Susan, however, just stares at him in disbelief mixed with horror, needles limp on her lap.

Eventually, someone else calls out for Fabian's help and he leaves. Maybe it's only Edgar's imagination, but it almost feels like Fabian is as reluctant to go as Edgar is to see him go — his hands linger on Edgar's, a caress that makes his lungs go tight.

He turns around and nearly jumps when his eyes fall on Susan, who stares at him with eyes that are far too knowing for her age.

"If you marry Mr. Fabian," she asks, unaware of how the words have Edgar choking on his tongue, "does that mean he'd be my Uncle too?"

"Err," Edgar, who had been under the impression that Susan did not approve of him showing interest in her teacher, doesn't really know what to say. "If he wants to?"

"If who wants to what?"

For the second time in maybe five minutes, Edgar nearly jumps out of his skin.

And just in time to hope the ground will swallow him up too, as he hears Susan answer Fabian's question.

"My Uncle Edgar wants you to marry him so you can be my Uncle too," Susan replies, tone very prim and proper in the way she got from her mother.

Fabian's eyes seem to burn a hole through Edgar's skull as he turns his focus on him, lips pulled into a smirk. "Is that true?"

"I wouldn't go that far," Edgar replies, chuckling awkwardly as he runs a hand through his hair nervously.

Fabian nods. "Well, that's good."

"It is?"

"Well, yes. We can hardly get married before going out on a single date, don't you think?"

For a moment, Edgar just stares ahead blankly — and then the words catch up with him.

"Oh — _oh_ , yes. I mean, we should do that. If you want."

Fabian huffs out a laugh. "I want. Why don't you stay for a bit after the class end, I'll give you my number." His eyes flitter down to Susan, before flickering back to Edgar. "I mean, if you can."

" _Say yes, Uncle Edgar_ ," Susan whispers loudly.

"I, err, yes, of course I'll stay," Edgar stutters.

And all the awkwardness he's felt over the course of the past hour feels worth it, somehow, when Fabian grins, as wide and bright as the sun.


	15. oh you know I saw a city burn

Written for Hogwarts' Meet Cute Marathon: Both characters meet as they both try to swindle the same mark by faking soulmate marks. They quickly realise that teaming up will be more effective, and later realise their real marks are compatible, and the Care of Magical creatures Assignment: Task #1: Write about a strong sense of loyalty.

Also for Library Lovers: Chronicles of Narnia - CS Lewis, (au) WWII, (object) Wardrobe, (plot point) Betrayal, the Writing Club - Book Club: Stuart Redman - (word) self defense, (plot point) assassination attempt, (word) leader, (genre) adventure, Days of the Month: World Bartender Day - Write about Aberforth Dumbledore, Count Your Buttons: Undercover Detective!AU, Lyric Alley: That things will get better, Television Show of the Month: Seeley Booth: (AU) War, (dialogue) "There's more than one kind of family.", (item) rifle, Liza's Loves: Goldeneye - Write a spy AU, Jenny's Jovial Quotations: "If you think you have it tough, read history books." - Bill Maher, the Play More Cards Event: War - War!AU, Serpent Day: Burrowing cobra - (AU) Spy, the Insane House Challenge: AU - WW2, the 365 Prompts Challenge: Quote - "I just want to do something that matters. Or be something that matters. I just want to matter." - John Green, Fairytale Week: Pretending to be someone/something you're not, Word: Honor, Falling in love.

 _Word count:_ 2129

* * *

 **oh you know I saw a city burn**

 _It's time_.

After three long years spent undercover, Edgar can't believe that's all he gets. _It's time_. Just two words, an impersonal message encrypted in the newspaper he checks every morning for that very reason.

He had expected more, somehow, though he doesn't know why. It's not like his one contact, a man he knows only by the name of Aberforth, was ever very talkative or, God forbid, warm.

The one time Edgar had tried to complain to him, the man had just replied, "If you think you have it tough, read history books." Because of course he had.

Edgar finds himself staring at his wardrobe tiredly. It's an old, sturdy thing that had already been there when he had moved in. Oddly enough, it's probably the one thing he'll miss from this whole thing — well, if he survives it.

 _It's time_.

Edgar sighs and reaches behind the wardrobe, grunting as he twists his arm until his fingers graze against paper. He pushes forward a bit more, grabs it and pulls back, a heavy envelope in his head. It contains everything he should need to get out of Germany — contact names, money, and his British credentials.

Edgar opens it and runs his fingers across his passport, tracing the words _Edgar Bones_ over and over again.

It's been three years since anyone's called him by that name. He half-fears he can't remember who that man was — what will his family say, when (if) he returns?

Will they even recognize him?

He closes the passport with a snap and pushes it back in the envelope before closing it back up again. It creaks as he buries it deep in his bag but Edgar forces himself not to think about it.

He can't leave yet, after all. He has a mission to finish first.

His eyes are drawn to the gun laying on the bed, right next to his packed bag. The black metal gleams, almost as though it can feel the attention Edgar is giving it, and its grip is cold in Edgar's hand.

It always is.

He checks the chamber and counts the bullets. One is really all he ever needs, but it never hurts to have more.

It's not like they give spies back up, now, do they?

The thoughts drift through his mind treacherously, and Edgar puts the chamber back in.

The gun feels heavy at his side, even after all the years he's spent carrying it — both here and before — but Edgar ignores it. He has a job to complete after all.

One last job to do in this place, and then he can be done.

.

The gunshot surprises him, but Edgar still hits the ground instantly. For a (too long) moment, he's dazed enough to bring his hand to his own gun, hanging heavy on his side.

But no, he's not the one who fired the shot.

He stares blankly ahead as his target — the one his government sent him after _three years ago_ — is pulled away from the screaming crowd. The man's shoulder is bleeding and it looks like it hurt — it couldn't happen to a better man, in Edgar's opinion — but from the look of things, it's not fatal.

 _Damn_ , Edgar curses in the sanctity of his own mind. He gets up slowly and starts scanning the crowd for the shooter. Whoever that is can't be far. That shot was too loud and too messy to come from anything but a rifle, but there's no way the shooter can be too far away.

 _There_. Edgar only catches a glimpse of bright red hair in the distance, but it's enough. With fire burning through his veins, he sets off after the man.

The streets of Berlin are unusually busy — the news of the attack on one of the SS commanders' life has, no doubt, already been transmitted — but Edgar's on uniform lets him move on unbothered.

His objective, however, isn't quite so lucky.

" _Halt_!" Even though his ears are used to it by now, the German still sounds rough and harsh, and Edgar starts to walk faster as he notices the way the red-haired man's hand drops to the plain sports bag he's carrying.

Edgar reaches them just as the policeman's hand drops to his own weapon, and he slides in with the best condescending look his position affords him.

"I'll take care of this," Edgar says, not even bothering with a greeting as he stares down the officer before him until the man grumbles, swallows back his complaints and walks away.

The redhead's hand hasn't moved from his bag, and he hasn't relaxed much, though he no longer looks on the verge of killing someone.

Good. Edgar's pretty sure they'd get caught if they started a scene here, self-defense though it might be, and the last thing he needs is people looking into his business when he's finally about to complete his mission and _leave_.

He waits until the German's no longer in their line of sight before roughly grabbing the stranger's arm and pulling him into a side-alley.

For some reason, the stranger goes along with it, and Edgar thanks his lucky stars that at least _something_ is going right today.

But as soon as they're out of sight, the man freezes up and stops moving. His brown eyes are so cold as they bore into Edgar's own that they might as well be made of ice, and the silence between them, already tense, grows even more so.

"What did you think you were doing?" The words fall from Edgar's mouth in an angry hiss, and the stranger startles.

He pastes on a charming smile on his face that, in any other setting, might have made Edgar's stomach flutter pleasantly.

"Just walking by, sir," the man says, his grin showing pearly white teeth. His German is perfect — in the same way that _Edgar's_ is perfect. "Nothing criminal in that."

Internally, Edgar rolls his eyes. "Of course," he replies dryly. "And I'm sure you'd have no problem with me checking that bag, then?"

Obviously, Edgar has no _real_ interest in what that bag holds. He already knows what he will find, anyway.

But the stranger doesn't know that, and his hand tightens on the straps of his bag until his knuckles go white. "Of course I don't have a problem with that," he replies, bright smile not showing a hint of the stress Edgar knows he must be feeling. He starts to offer the bag to Edgar.

Despite himself, he's a bit impressed. He probably would have fallen for it if he hadn't used the same ruse a hundred times before.

No fool, Edgar doesn't reach for the bag. Instead, he just states, "You tried to kill Riddle today."

It's a deliberate risk, using that name like this. Everyone knows that Tom Riddle never goes by his birth name, preferring the alias of Voldemort, and that, added to the fact that Edgar took off all signs of respect he could have added for the man who's supposed to be his leader, is as clear of a confession as Edgar can make it.

"No, I didn't." The man trails off on the last word, his brown eyes looking at Edgar differently now. He blinks, gaping a little. "Wait, are you…?"

Edgar arches an eyebrow at him.

"You're _Bones_ , aren't you?"

It's hard to say if the man looks more shocked or enthused, but Edgar can't focus on that. His blood freezes in his veins.

"Where did you hear that name?" He hisses, stepping forward threateningly.

The man licks his lips, eyes darting to the sides before he squares his shoulders and stares directly into Edgar's eyes.

" _The Phoenix always rises from its ashes._ "

" _Hope springs eternal_." The familiar code words fall from Edgar's lips without even his notice and he stumbles backward, in shock.

The man either doesn't notice or pretends to, shouldering his back again, lips now stretched into a cheerful smile. "I'm Fabian," he says. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

.

They move to Edgar's apartment. It's not the most secure location, considering how many people know about it, but it's the best they can get to on such short notice. All everyone knows here is Edgar's cover personality too, and that grants them a certain measure of… safety, since no one really dares go against the government here.

It's also the one place Edgar is sure they won't be listened in.

They sit face to face at his dinner table, and Edgar speaks first.

"So, what are you doing here?"

Fabian hums a little, fingers drumming against the table before answering. "You've been here for a long time," he starts with.

His tone is carefully blank, but Edgar isn't stupid. He can read between the lines.

"People were worried I'd gone turncoat." The words taste like bile in his mouth but he forces them out anyway.

Fabian winces but doesn't deny it. "There were some concerns." He nods. "And you didn't answer your last four communiques."

Edgar's head snaps up. "What?"

"You didn't answer your last four communiques," Fabian repeats slowly, a frown forming on his face.

"I heard you the first time," Edgar retorts. "But that's wrong. I did reply. I always reply."

Fabian's frown deepens and his fingers still against the table. The sudden silence is discomforting. "Are you sure? Maybe you made a mistake?"

Edgar glares at him. "I don't make mistakes. I sent my answers the way I always do — and yes, I made sure they weren't intercepted."

Fabian sighs, and his right hand comes up to rub his temples. "Shit," he swears. "You know what that means, then?"

Voiceless, Edgar nods.

"Shit," Fabian repeats. "I can't believe they were right and we do have a traitor in the family."

Edgar blinks, lips quirking up in an amused smile despite the seriousness of the situation. "You must have a weird definition of family, then."

"There's more than one kind of family, _Bones_ ," Fabian replies, smirking.

"Call me Edgar."

Edgar isn't really sure why he said that — maybe it's because it's odd to think about Fabian by his first name when the other man doesn't know his, maybe it's because it's been too long since he's heard someone call him by that name.

Maybe it's something different entirely, or maybe it's a mix of all that.

Edgar finds his eyes drawn to Fabian's face without his own accord in the silence that follows. He's absently studying his freckles when Fabian speaks again, startling Edgar into looking away, cheeks burning red.

"So, what should we do then?"

"I assume you have a way of contacting your superiors?" Edgar replies, willing his racing heart to steady.

Fabian nods. "Yes, but if yours is compromised, mine might be too."

"There's no telling that until we try it, though. We need to warn them that there's a traitor in our midst."

"And if it doesn't work?"

"We'll cross that bridge when we get to it," Edgar replied somberly.

"Agreed. So, what now?" Fabian repeats.

"Well, the way I see it… We both share a mission, and that mission isn't complete yet. We should see to that."

It's a matter of duty, to Edgar, but not only that. He's never failed a single mission before, and still, people back home doubted his loyalty, his honor. He wants — no, he _needs_ — to prove them wrong.

Fabian's lips stretch into an eager grin. "You want to team up?"

"It's only logical," Edgar replies. He keeps his voice even, because he knows their profession doesn't really allow for sentiment, but the truth is…

The truth is, he really does _want_ this team up. He wants to know more about this Fabian, who was sent to fulfill his mission and probably put him down if he had turned — neither of them has said it out loud, but they both know how the game is played.

He wants to know more about the man who was foolishly brave enough to take a shot on Voldemort himself in the middle of a crowd, even if that failed — about the man who wasn't afraid to follow Edgar home when all the intel he had told him that Edgar was a traitor.

 _And_ , he thinks as he stares at blood-red hair, _there's also the fact that he's not bad looking._

Fabian's eyes study him for what feels like forever until he finally nods. His eyes glimmer knowingly, making Edgar's heart trip up in his chest, and he says, "Sounds good. So, I assume you have a plan?"

Edgar grins. "Well, now that you mention it..."


	16. did you hear the world end?

Written for Hogwarts' Meet Cute Marathon: You just woke up from a coma and now I have to explain to you that there are zombies (or aliens or whatever else related to an apocalypse) around.

Also for the Writing Club - Character Appreciation: (Setting) St. Mungo's, Lyric Alley: But I get a little lonely, Liza's Love: Apocalypse Now - Write an Apocalypse AU, Serpent's Day: Urutu- (setting) St. Mungo's and the Play More Cards Event: Texas Hold'em - write about two people stuck together.

 _Word count_ : 1776

* * *

 **did you hear the world end?**

Fabian Prewett was Edgar's favorite patient: quiet, docile, and he didn't ask for much work, which freed Edgar up for a variety of other activities, most of which included making sure St. Mungo's was still operational despite Edgar being the only doctor left in the place and the apocalypse going on outside.

(That second part was honestly the most worrying.)

Fabian Prewett was also Edgar's _only_ patient, and the reason why he hadn't been able to evacuate the place when everyone else had.

Of course, Edgar hadn't exactly expected the full-on _zombie outbreak_ that had followed the initial pandemic warnings, but luckily the hospital was actually easily defendable, and well-stocked in food, water, and other essentials.

And so here he was, one hundred and twenty-seven days into the apocalypse and eating potato chips as he stared at his sleeping patient.

 _Crunch_. The chip cracked under his teeth, the noise echoing loudly in the otherwise silent room.

"You know, I never really got why people hated hospital food before. But now I really, really do," Edgar said out loud.

Fabian, of course, didn't answer him.

Fabian, having been in a coma for the past six months, never answered him.

Not that it stopped Edgar from talking to him. He'd say it was a way to stave off the madness of being alone, but he'd actually done this before they were the only two people left in the hospital, so he really had no excuse.

 _Crunch_. Edgar stared at Fabian's chest as it smoothly rose and fell, and ate another chip.

"Can you believe that I don't even _like_ potato chips? It's just that they're pretty much the only thing _salty_ in this damn place." He sighed, kicking back in his chair until his head came to rest on the wall. "I miss salt."

He sighed again and let his chair fall back into its resting position. One quick look at the clock told him only ten minutes had passed and Edgar considered moving to the window to stare outside.

Maybe today the sight of their desolated town wouldn't be as depressing.

But no. Instead, his eyes were drawn back to Fabian.

"Well, at least you're pretty," he said in a whisper as his eyes traced Fabian's face for the nth time. By now, he had memorized every inch of it so well he could probably draw it — if he had an ounce of artistic talent, that is.

His eyes went back to his bag of chips — now sadly empty — and he crumpled the bag noisily.

The soft moan that came from the bed startled him so badly he nearly fell off his chair.

"What the…"

He swang to his feet so quickly his head spun and walked to his patient's bed.

Fabian moaned again, eyes moving rapidly behind his closed eyelids. His eyelashes fluttered gently, and Edgar only got a glimpse of brown eyes with pupils blown wide before Fabian's eyes clenched shut.

It took him an embarrassingly long time to find his voice.

"Fabian? Fabian?" he called out, before cursing himself as he remembered that doctors weren't usually _that_ familiar with their patients. "I mean, Mr. Prewett?" The correction felt odd in his mouth after so long thinking of the other man as 'Fabian', but Edgar went with it anyway.

"Are you awake, Mr. Prewett?"

Fabian moaned again and shifted on the bed.

 _Holy shit_. Edgar couldn't believe that was actually happening.

He kept up a small line of questioning and encouragement until Fabian finally opened his eyes, blinking blearily at Edgar.

"Hello there," Edgar said, feeling a grin on his lips so wide it hurt. "No, no, don't move," he hastened to add when Fabian started to stir again, and instead he had to bed lift up a little so that Fabian was more sitting than lying down.

Fabian's eyes flickered around the room before fixating on Edgar.

He tried not to feel too warm at that. _Be professional_ , _Edgar_ , he admonished himself. _Professional_.

Fabian opened his mouth to speak, and frowned when only an odd croaking noise came out. He looked so betrayed Edgar had to bite back a chuckle.

"Here," he said, offering Fabian a drink from the water bottle he had brought for himself. "Drink slowly."

Some of the water dribbled down his chin, but Fabian drank a few mouthful before Edgar withdrew the bottle. He licked his lips slowly before trying to speak again.

"Where am I?" His voice still sounded rough, the words coming off more as 'Wher'm'I' than an actual real sentence, but Edgar got the meaning of it anyway.

But before he'd had the time to answer, Fabian had added another question, his eyes staring at Edgar intently. "Are you an angel?"

Edgar blushed, sputtering. "Ah, no, sorry. I'm, err, you're in St. Mungo's. Hospital. St. Mungo's Hospital. In London." He scrambled for words he should know by heart by now, and tried to regain some composure by taking a step back.

"You were in a car accident, and you fell into a coma," he explained. "You were admitted on January 11th, and I'm sorry to tell you that it's now the 17th of July."

Fabian sat up straighter at that, eyes widening in alarm.

"Calm down," Edgar said soothingly, gently pushing him back down on the bed. "Everything's fine. I promise I'll answer all of your questions later, but first, there are some tests I need to run. Everything's going to be fine," he repeated.

Fabian subsided with a glare and Edgar quietly breathed out a sigh of relief.

It wasn't until Fabian had drifted back to sleep, exhausted, that Edgar cursed.

" _Shit_." 'Everything's fine.' God, what had possessed him to say that?

For that matter, how was he even supposed to explain their situation? It wasn't like he could just come out and say, 'Oh, and by the way, the zombie apocalypse happened while you were sleeping. Surprise!'

.

It took Fabian three days to start making remarks on the oddness of the situation, and Edgar couldn't tell if that was more or less time than he'd been hoping for.

It started small, with questions like, 'How come I never see any other doctor than you?"

Edgar had laughed that one off, but he was aware that he couldn't do the same with all of Fabian's questions.

But the day that Fabian started to ask about his family was the day that Edgar knew he couldn't put it off any longer.

He sat down next to Fabian's bed and told him everything.

Fabian, understandably, didn't believe him.

"You're joking," he said. "That's not — _zombies_ are not a real thing. They're not."

"They _weren't_ ," Edgar corrected with a quiet wince. "They are now."

Fabian frowned and crossed his arms. Edgar felt a flush of pride for how far Fabian had already come after so long spent in a coma — especially since he was far from a specialist on recovery — but he pushed it down.

"Is this a prank? Is there like, a hidden camera somewhere, recording everything?"

"It's not a prank," Edgar replied, exasperated. "I don't know what to tell you — there was a pandemic, people got sick and then they turned into, well, they turned into zombies." He shrugged helplessly. "That's what happened."

Fabian stared at him like he was mad. "I don't believe you," he repeated, and apparently, that was all he was willing to say on the subject.

Edgar did catch him muttering to himself later on, staring at the phone on his bedside table. Edgar knew he had tried to call his family more than once, but none of the calls l had gotten through.

Edgar wasn't surprised — cell service had been down for awhile now — but Fabian kept trying every day.

" _There's no way this is real_ ," Fabian kept saying, but Edgar saw the way his eyes kept drifting to the window.

Edgar's heart ached for him, but there really was nothing he could do.

There was nothing he could do but wait until Fabian believed him.

.

"Alright," Fabian told him one day. "Say — say I believe you. There are zombies out there, it's the apocalypse, blah blah blah. Why are you still here? Why aren't you like, in some bunker somewhere or something?"

He looked so triumphant at this perceived flaw in Edgar's claims that Edgar almost wanted to lie, to tell him that it _was_ all just some elaborate prank.

"Ah," he said instead, very intelligently. His cheeks started to burn and he idly wondered if maybe asking for a zombie attack on the hospital right now to get him out of this conversation would be too much like tempting fate.

 _Probably_ , he reasoned. He sighed.

"Look," he started, "they started to evacuate the hospital as soon as they got the news it wasn't just an ordinary sickness. They got almost everyone out, but back then you couldn't be moved and your family wouldn't risk it anyway, so we just… We couldn't evacuate _you_ from this hospital."

Fabian licked his lips nervously. "That still doesn't explain why _you_ 're here."

"I'm coming to that," Edgar assured him, wringing his hands before him. "So, you couldn't be move and everyone else was leaving — but we couldn't just leave you _alone_ here, you wouldn't have survived. Someone had to stay, so… I stayed." He gave a little helpless shrug and smiled like it was no big deal — like it wouldn't soon be six months since the last time he had seen his family.

Fabian just stared at him. "You stayed for me?"

Edgar nodded. "I couldn't just _leave_ ," he said helplessly.

Fabian kept staring at him. Finally, he spoke, deflating. "You're not lying, are you?"

Edgar shook his head silently. He watched as Fabian leaned back against his bed, shaking and stepped forward until he stood by the bed.

"Well _shit_."

Edgar waited for a few moments before speaking again. "What changed your mind?" he asked curiously. "I didn't think you believed me?"

"I looked through the window," Fabian admitted after a pause. "I saw…" He trailed off, but Edgar nodded anyway.

"Yeah, it's pretty bad out there. We're safe here, though," he added, and he wished he had something better to offer.

But he did.

Hesitantly, he held out his hand. For a moment, he thought Fabian would just ignore it, but instead, he grabbed it firmly, holding onto it tightly like a drowning man clung to his lifeline.

"Yeah," Fabian agreed quietly, his thumb tracing little circles against Edgar's skin. "We're safe."


	17. on the right side of the wrong bed

Written for Hogwarts' Meet Cute Marathon: I woke up hungover, I have no memory of last night and there's a number written on my arm. I call it and you answer the phone with "Oh its you . About last night..."

Also for Library Lovers: Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen, (genre) Romance, (word) Wealth, (word) Bride, (plot point) Marriage, Play More Cards Event: Rummy - write a slash/femslash pairing, the Insane House Challenge: Word - Penumbra - (A half-shadow), Serpent Day: Hoop snake - (object) mug, the 365 Prompts Challenge: Song - Can't Take My Eyes Off You - Franki Valli, the Writing Club - Lyric Alley: I'm a little bit jealous.

 _Word count:_ 1163

* * *

 **on the right side of the wrong bed**

Edgar woke up feeling like he'd been hit by a car.

No, a train. That felt more accurate.

His head was pounding and his mouth tasted like something had died in it. He rose on his elbows gingerly, legs gliding against silk sheets he was sure didn't belong to him, and blearily forced his eyes open.

As expected, he didn't recognize the room — not even a little bit — and he collapsed backward onto the bed.

And immediately cursed himself for moving too quickly as a white lance of pain flared through his head like someone had taken a drill to it.

 _Fuck_.

Edgar didn't know how long it took for the pain to fade enough that it was now merely a dull throb rather than the earlier stabs of agony, but it felt like forever.

This time, when he pulled himself up, he was a lot more careful.

Luckily enough, the room was dark. Edgar was rather sure that any amount of light would only aggravate his hangover, and he thanked his lucky stars that the room was drenched in peaceful penumbra instead.

Now that his eyes were more used to the shadow though, the room didn't look any more familiar. He did spot a mug filled with water on the bedside table as well as two aspirins, and he flushed them down gratefully.

It took some careful searching to find his clothes, but find them he did. Unfortunately, he had far worse luck trying to find his memories from last night, as the last thing he could remember was his brother challenging him to a drinking contest.

"Come on, Edgar," he had said, grinning widely, "it's Vegas _and_ we're celebrating my future marriage to my beautiful bride. I demand that you drink with me. Spend some of that hard-earned wealth," he had added, winking outrageously and rubbing his fingers together.

"That doesn't even make any sense. How much have you already drunk?" Edgar had protested, but in the end, he could never refuse his siblings anything, and so he had agreed, and downed more shots than he could remember.

And now here he was, waking up in some strange bedroom with a hangover that felt like dying would be a preferable option to living another second.

Wrinkling his nose at the smell of it, Edgar put on his shirt quickly.

And froze, as he saw dark ink looping around his forearm.

"What the…" He frowned and stumbled over to the bed, fingers prodding gently at the writing.

It was almost too dark to make it out, but after some effort, Edgar did manage to decipher a number, followed by 'call me' and a truly impressive amount of little hearts.

For some reason, their sight brought a smile to his lips and made his heart flutter.

He dug through his pants for his phone and turned it on. The sudden brightness hurt his eyes, but thankfully the meds seemed to be working as his headache stayed bearable.

He had a bunch of unread messages — mostly from his brother — but Edgar wasn't in the mood to check those now.

Instead, he carefully typed in the number on his arm and pressed the _call_ button before putting the phone against his ear.

It barely rang twice before someone picked up. The voice was warm and low. It reminded Edgar of smiles and sunshine, and it made him smile.

"Err, hi?" Edgar replied. "I'm Edgar. I, err, I found your number?"

He didn't mention that it was written on his arm, or the little hearts. This situation felt awkward enough. Edgar might spontaneously combust if he had to talk about that.

"Oh, it's you!" The man replied cheerfully. "You're awake! That's great — I wasn't sure when you'd be up after last night. Man, you must have drunk half the alcohol in this place at least." He laughed, a warm and joyful sound that had Edgar's inside twist.

"Are you feeling alright? I left you some Advil for your head, have you found it?"

Edgar nodded before remembering that the man couldn't see it. "Aah, yes. Thanks for that. It helped with my headache."

The man chuckled. "I'm glad." A pause. "Look, I'm downstairs, but I can be there in maybe… ten minutes if you want to talk about last night."

Edgar blinked and licked his lips. "Right. About last night… I… This might be a little awkward, but I don't, err, I don't actually remember anything? Sorry?" He winced at the last word but couldn't find it in himself to regret it.

The man stayed silent for so long that Edgar checked if he hadn't hung up by accident — he hadn't.

"Right," he finally said. "Right, right, right. We should probably… talk about that then." He laughed awkwardly and then told Edgar he was on his way.

He hung up after that and Edgar stared at his phone, trying to summon his memories through sheer willpower.

Needless to say, it didn't work.

He was still trying to at least come up with a name for the man he'd apparently spent the night with and drawing a blank instead — and dear God, could this situation get any more embarrassing? — when someone knocked on the door.

"Come in!" Edgar called out.

The door opened slowly, but Edgar's eyes were immediately drawn to the figure of the man who stepped through.

Framed by the reddish light from the corridor outside, he looked like some otherworldly apparition — a fantasy, shaped just for his eyes.

He stayed there, silent, his eyes trained on Edgar, for a long time.

"Well, come in," Edgar managed to say.

The man shuffled in awkwardly and sat down on the other end of the bed.

He was even more handsome up close, and Edgar's heart gave a painful lurch.

"So… What do you remember exactly?" the man asked.

Edgar licked his lips nervously. "Nothing?"

The man's face fell, pain flashing in his eyes, and Edgar hastened to add, "I'm sure it'll come back though."

The man sighed, lips quirked up in an almost smile. "Do you even remember my name?"

Edgar shook his head, not trusting his voice not to break.

The man sighed and ran a hand through his red hair. "I'm Fabian," he said. "And I guess… It's a pleasure to meet you. Again."

Edgar's lips quirked up at that and he huffed out a laugh.

"The pleasure's all mine."

And in that moment, he didn't mind that he couldn't remember last night. Clearly it had been amazing, if it had led him to Fabian's room, but here and now, Fabian's dark eyes shone with something else — something more.

A promise — that last night wouldn't be their _only_ night.

And for now, that was more than enough for Edgar.

(Even if he was still ridiculously jealous of the version himself that had lived through that night.)


	18. who tells the river where to go?

Written for Hogwarts' Meet Cute Marathon: A is at a library and stumbles across an aisle that they had never noticed before. The shelves are lined with large old books with covers in mostly unrecognisable languages. A is strangely drawn to one book in particular, and when their hand grazes its spine, A is transported to Olympus – and standing before them is B, a literal Greek God(dess).

Also for the Religious Education Assignment: Task #3: Write about someone pretending to be an angel or a god, the Writing Club - Character Appreciation: (Object) Glasses, Lyric Alley: Some can take it or leave it, Restriction of the Month: (character) Professor Binns, no using houses, Fairytale Week: Jenny - Sleeping Beauty, Object: A red rose, Word: Insomnia, Song: Once Upon a Dream by Paloma Faith, Serpent Day: Ribbon snake- (object) quill, Library Lovers: Alice in Wonderland - Lewis Carroll, (action) Falling, "Who are you?", (item) Roses, the Insane House Challenge: AU - God/Goddess, the 365 Prompts Challenge: Item - Quill.

 _Word count:_ 2086

* * *

 **who tells the river where to go?**

"And for our next lesson, I want an essay on magic in Ancient Civilizations," Professor Binns is saying, and the sudden change in his tone as he finally gives the homework for their next class has Fabian's head snap up suddenly.

All around him, the class is in a similar state of awakening, and Fabian takes up his quill and scribbles the instructions he can barely decipher on the blackboard — next time, he's definitely putting on his glasses — before shoving everything in his bag.

For some reason, this History of Magic assignment tugs at something in his mind, and he finds his steps taking him to the library.

He stands in front of it for several long minutes, considering all the _other_ things he could be doing instead of homework, but in the end, the promise of finishing his work early enough to catch a full night's sleep for once is enough to tempt him inside.

Ancient Civilizations, Binns had said. He can't say he's ever looked at that section — and apparently, not many have either. The librarian directs him to a row much further back than any he's ever been to, and the air smells musty.

It tickles his nostrils unpleasantly, and Fabian finds himself fighting back a shiver as he walks between the towering bookshelves. It's clear that he's wandered into an older part of the library: even though the place is still as clean and taken care of as the shelves Fabian is more used to, there is an oppressing feeling of darkness that no _Lumos_ can get rid of.

It's unnerving, and Fabian almost feels like he's being watched — and yet, every time he looks behind his shoulders, there is no one there.

Shivering, he quickly grabs a handful of heavy tomes that look relevant for his homework before stumbling back out to the table beside which he'd dropped his bag earlier.

Sighing, he sits on the bench and pulls the first book of the pile to himself.

Its cover is oddly beautiful, he notes absently, fingers tracing the golden embossed letters. _A True and Accurate Tale of the Gods and Goddesses of Mt. Olympus_ , the title proclaims. The author's name, however, is almost entirely erased — not that Fabian cares. His curiosity is peaked now.

He moves to open it, but the cover is stuck. Frowning, he tugs harder, and harder, and…

 _he falls_

 _falls_

 _falls._

He lands on the greenest grass he's ever seen, and he gets up to his feet gingerly.

He's bare-footed, somehow, and when he looks down he sees that his school robes have changed into a white and gold toga. The grass is soft and wet under his feet, and it feels like he's walking onto a cloud.

There is a city in the distance — or what looks like one, anyway, with great white columns framed by golden rays of sunlight — and Fabian heads there for the lack of a better thing to do.

He idly registers that he's being oddly calm about his situation, and he can feel a part of him panic about it, but somehow that panic is being held at bay.

"Well, hello there!"

The voice comes out of nowhere and startles him so bad he trips on air. He closes his eyes as the ground rushes up to meet him and thrusts his hands forward to break his fall — but someone catches him before he can hurt himself.

"Whoops," the man says, his voice warm and apologetic in Fabian's ears. "Wait a second, this'll be better… Ah!"

He hears a sound like a flutter of wings and then his feet are on the ground again, and Fabian opens his eyes to find himself staring at the most beautiful man he's ever seen.

"You alright there?" the god asks — because a face like this does not belong to a mortal. He jerks forward a little and, looking down, Fabian notices that his shoes have little wings, beating rapidly through the air and keeping him floating a few inches above the ground. With a quiet _snick_ , the wings retract and the god drops the last few inches to the ground.

They're almost the same size, Fabian notes idly, before embarrassment catches up to him and he averts his eyes.

"Sorry about this," he sputters.

The god smiles, a radiant thing that unveils perfect white teeth. "Don't worry about it. It's not every day I get to say a pretty boy fell for me, after all? Now, who are you? I'm - - - - - -."

The god tells him his name — Fabian knows it's a name, he can hear it — but at the same moment, the world fades out, goes white and blinding and _painful_.

Someone far away calls out his name, and it sounds important, but…

But Fabian blinks and he's back in paradise, a handsome god-boy smiling at him.

They've moved — they're no longer standing in the middle of that perfect clearing. Instead, they're sitting side by side in an old-fashioned temple. It smells absurdly good, like incense and flowers but not quite, and Hermes is holding his hand.

 _Hermes_. Yes, of course. Why had he thought he couldn't hear the god's name?

"And this is my temple," Hermes is saying "It's not as busy as it used to be, but there's still plenty to do around here if you'd like to help out."

And now that Hermes has said it, yes — yes, he does want to help out.

Fabian looks up and stares into eyes the color of everything he's ever loved, and he breathes out, "What should I do?"

Hermes smiles, and laughs, and says, "Whatever you want to do."

* * *

The nights are warm here, but Hermes' hands on his skin are even warmer. It's like there's a fire caged in his skin, a raging inferno trapped in his heart, and Hermes' touch is the only thing that can set it free.

Fabian learns to stay awake, gasping into his lover's mouth. Insomnia becomes his sweet mistress, because how could he sleep, when sleep would mean parting, even if only for a moment, from Hermes' side?

Hermes, who traces constellations on his bare skin and brings him back roses from his travels — a new one each day, each as sweet-smelling as the last.

Hermes, who worships him like _Fabian_ is the godly one here.

Hermes, whose features change a little more every day until he looks just like every fantasy Fabian's ever had with his reddish hair and twisting grin.

Hermes, who one night whispers in his ear, "Call me Edgar," and that's when Fabian knows.

His heart pounds in his chest and he feels like he's falling again — or still, rather, like he never landed at all. His world is slipping through his fingers and Hermes — no, _Edgar_ — is looking at him like he _knows_.

"Oh," Fabian says, and such a small word shouldn't be able to carry so much weight. "Oh. You're not real."

Edgar shakes his head and suddenly, the bedroom fades away until they're standing in that clearing. It looks as impossibly beautiful as it did when Fabian first saw it, but for the first time, that sight fills his soul with dread rather than joy.

"I don't want to go," he whispers, almost whining. His eyes burn and his hands ache to reach out for the illusion of a god he fell in love with, but he holds them steady at his side.

"You have to," Edgar replies. He reaches out and rests his right hand on Fabian's cheek, fingers featherlight on his skin. "You'll die if you stay here."

It's true. Fabian can tell that it's true.

And yet, he still desperately wants to stay.

He opens his mouth and a hundred words die on his tongue before he can ever speak them.

Chuckling softly, Edgar leans in and presses their lips together. It's cold, this kiss. It tastes like tear and farewells, and when Fabian opens eyes he hadn't even been aware he'd closed, he's standing alone in that clearing, clenching a red rose in his hands.

He brings it to his face and smells it, and he

 _falls_

 _in_

 _reverse_.

* * *

His body feels heavy when Fabian finally opens his eyes. He would probably have recognized the hospital wing even without the nurse being there, but the woman lets out a shrill scream when she sees him sitting up, dropping a case of potion vials on the floor.

They shatter loudly and Fabian winces, but the nurse is already by his side, waving her wand at him and casting diagnostic spells.

He somehow manages to gather that he'd stumbled onto a cursed book in the library. A student found him bent over that old book and he immediately alerted the teachers, but nothing they'd done had been able to wake him up.

He's been asleep for weeks, she tells him, and Fabian pastes on a smile to reassure her. "I'm fine," he tells her. "I'm just…"

He trails off, eyes catching on the single red rose sitting in a vase on his bedside table. His breath catches in his chest and his heart pounds painfully.

"Who…" He licks his lips. "Who is that from?"

The nurse suddenly smiles. "Oh, that's from Edgar. He's the one who found you — such a lovely boy. He's been here to visit you every day."

Fabian's mouth runs dry.

 _Edgar_. "That's nice of him," Fabian hears himself say.

The nurse hums in agreement and returns with a vial full of a dirty brown liquid. "Here, drink this," she tells him. "Bottoms up."

She watches as Fabian follows her instructions.

He shudders as the oily liquid sticks to his throat, and the nurse sighs. "He should be around soon, if you want to thank him." Her eyes seem to pierce right through him. "Or I could tell him to come back another day."

"Ah, no," Fabian hastens to reply, heart racing in his chest. He wipes his suddenly damp palms on the bedsheets and gives her his brightest smile. "I — I'd like to see him. Please."

She huffs a little but nods, and sure enough, it's only a few minutes later that the doors open and a boy walks in.

He starts to call out a greeting but his words die in an awkward croaking noise when his eyes come to rest of Fabian.

"You're awake," he breathes out.

It seems as though it only took the blink of an eye for him to reach Fabian's bed. Edgar's hands hover above the cover, trembling, before he tucks them out of sight. He turns to stare at the nurse. "He's awake," he tells her, voice vibrating with excitement.

She snorts. "It would seem so, yes." She waves her wand over Fabian's body one last time before tucking it out of sight, apparently pleased with whatever results she got out of that reading.

She stares between Edgar and Fabian, who are back to staring at each other, and lets out another snort. "You have fifteen minutes," she says, and then she leaves.

"So… I'm Edgar," Edgar says, lips pulled into a small smile.

Fabian stays silent long enough for that smile to grow awkward, but he can't help it. Not when Edgar stares at him with the face of someone Fabian thought was a god for what felt like a lifetime.

"It's nice to meet you?" Edgar's voice, so familiar and yet not, startles him out of his thoughts, and Fabian blushes.

But it's enough to break him out of his daze. His lips pull into a wide grin and Fabian has to restrain the laughter bubbling up in his chest.

"I hear you saved my life," he says.

"Oh, well, that was nothing. I mean, anyone would have done it," Edgar stutters, and it's so cute that Fabian's heart skips a beat.

"But _you_ did it," Fabian retorts. He must look ridiculous, grinning so much, but he doesn't care. "So thank you. And trust me, it's a _pleasure_ to meet you." He purrs out the word _pleasure_ and winks, and this time, when Edgar blushes violently, he's not able to keep it in anymore.

Bright peals of laughter burst out from his mouth and echo through the room, and Fabian didn't think he could be happy after leaving that fakes paradise, but here and now?

He is. He really is.


	19. here is love

Written for Hogwarts' Meet Cute Marathon: A has just been in an accident. There were cars, there were lights, there were loud crashes and the faint sound of a woman screaming. Now, A is sitting in the back of an ambulance, wrapped in a blanket and a heavy feeling of confusion. B, a paramedic, stops at A's side and asks, "How are you feeling?"

Also for the Writing Club: Book Club - Tom Cullen: (action) being hypnotized, (word) moon, (time) nighttime, Showtime: Wonderful - (object) Balloons, Lyric Alley: There's no space, Serpent Day: Trinket snake - (object) button, the Insane House Challenge: Title - Here Is Love, the 365 Prompts Challenge: Word - Rescue.

 _Word count:_ 783

* * *

 **here is love**

In retrospect, maybe it hadn't been the best idea to text while crossing the street, but in his defense, his brother was being an idiot and _someone_ had to tell him off before he got himself killed in some stupid but tragic accident.

As a result, however, Fabian doesn't see the car until it's too late.

There's a loud screech and the sound of twisting metal — somewhere in the distance, a woman screams. He's vaguely aware of something hitting him and knocking the breath out of his chest, but the next time the world makes sense, it's well into nighttime and he's sitting in an ambulance, a shock blanket tucked tightly around his shoulders. A red balloon bobs up in the air above his head, and Fabian resolutely ignores it.

The moon shines bright up above, highlighting a street that is in utter chaos and his hands are holding a cool water bottle, and because he has no idea what else to do, Fabian takes a swig out of it.

He blinks, and then does it again. Before he knows it, the bottle is empty and he's swallowing the last mouthful.

"Wow, you were thirsty, weren't you? That's good."

The voice surprises him and Fabian starts to choke, spewing water everywhere. His lungs hurt, but someone starts to tap on his back, and eventually, he can breathe again.

"Thanks," he says, grip so tight on his bottle that the plastic groans and bends.

He looks at his rescuer and promptly loses his breath again. In his hands, the plastic groans even more loudly, and it's terrible but he can't stop staring.

The man is a paramedic, that much is clear. On his shirt, written in some ridiculous blue cursive, is written 'Edgar Bones' — but Fabian's eyes are drawn to the man's face instead. With high cheekbones and warm brown eyes, Fabian feels like he could stare at that face forever.

"H-Hi," he stutters. He's horrified to feel his cheeks start to heat up, and abruptly wishes he could go back in time and let that car hit him.

Instead, he finds himself worrying the button on his right sleeve as he asks, "What happened?"

"I'll come back to that in a moment, if you don't mind," Edgar replies. He smiles, and it looks like a sunrise. "Now, how are you feeling?"

"Hot," Fabian blurts out. "Err, I mean fine. I feel fine."

Edgar chuckles. "I'm glad to hear it. You scared us there for awhile. We couldn't find anything wrong with you, and yet you wouldn't answer to any outside stimuli," he explains when Fabian sends him a questioning look.

"Oh. I see." He doesn't actually _see_ anything, and it must show on his face because Edgar chuckles again.

Edgar then explains that Fabian had been in some kind of freak accident: just as the car was about to hit him, another car hit it, and then someone had tackled Fabian out of the way as both cars spun out of control.

"So I'm really, actually fine?" Fabian asks. It seems unbelievable, considering moments earlier he was certain of his imminent doom.

"Just bumps and bruises," Edgar confirms. "And a few scratches too, probably. But nothing serious. And since you're coherent now, I can even release you."

He says it kindly, with a smile, but something in Fabian's chest pangs painfully at the thought of leaving.

"Oh," he says, and then he licks his lips. "But what if… What if I wanted to stay?"

Edgar's eyes immediately sharpen. "Why? Are you in pain? Why didn't you mention it?"

There is something almost amusing about watching a grown man — a handsome one, at that — fret over him when he had just said Fabian was fine, but it's mostly heart-warming.

"No," Fabian replies, wanting to die. "I just… I don't want to leave?"

He stares at Edgar intently and Edgar stares back at him. It's almost funny to see the moment it hits him — all confusion clears from his face and his cheeks flush pink.

"Oh," he says. " _Oh_." His blush deepens and his eyes dart to the sides, as if to check that they're truly alone.

(They are.)

"Oh," he repeats for the third time. "Well, unfortunately, I do have to go, and you can't come with me-" Fabian's face falls, "-but I can give you my number. I mean, if you'd like?"

Fabian's heart trips in his chest and he nods so fast he feels dizzy. "Yes. Please. I'd like that."

And when the ambulance finally does pull away some time later, Fabian clenches his phone to his chest, and it feels like a beginning.


	20. sing my heart awake

Written for Hogwarts' Meet Cute Marathon Event: Characters meet while waiting in line for the concert.

Also for the Muggle Music Assignment - Task #1: "Summer Nights" (Grease): Write about a summer romance, the Writing Club - Book Club: Larry Underwood: (au) rockstar, (word) journey, (dialogue) "You're awful cute when you're angry, [Name].", Lyric Alley: I've never tasted fame, Days of the Month: Singles Awareness Day - Write about someone who is happily single, the Insane House Challenge: Job - Rockstar, the 365 Prompts Challenge: Job - Rock Star, Serpent Day: Inland taipan- (AU) rock star.

 _Word count:_ 1435

* * *

 **sing my heart awake**

"Hi! You're waiting for the concert too?"

With his headphones on, Edgar almost didn't hear the voice that came from beside him. He even considered not replying, but a little voice that sounded a lot like his mother chided him in his head, and so he turned his audiobook off.

"Obviously," he replied dryly.

"You know, you're awful cute when you're angry, …?"

"Edgar," Edgar replied, biting his tongue to stay polite. It wasn't the man's fault Edgar was tired and annoyed by all this waiting, after all, or that the long journey here added to the unbearable summer heat made him cranky. Hell, the man probably felt the same way.

He turned his head to face him and apologize, and promptly choked on his tongue. The mean easily wore the most provocative clothes Edgar had ever seen — the most leather, too. They left nothing up to imagination, and his brown eyes lined with dark kohl were mesmerizing.

"Well, Edgar, I'm Fabian," he introduced himself, extending a hand.

Edgar shook it, and Fabian shot him a weird look. "You're not really here for the music, are you?"

Edgar startled. "What gave me away?"

Fabian huffed out a laugh, smirking mysteriously. "I just had a feeling."

"... A feeling," Edgar drawled, raising an eyebrow dubiously.

For some reason, Fabian seemed to find his reaction funny, because his smirk widened. "Yes. A feeling." That seemed to be all he was willing to say on the subject, so Edgar shrugged.

"Well, then your _feeling_ is right. I'm here with my sister." And was it his imagination or did Fabian perk up at that? "She's the real fan here — I don't really listen to music much."

Fabian looked appalled. "Not at all?"

Edgar shrugged again. "No. I guess I just don't see the appeal?"

"You _don't see the appeal_." Fabian gaped.

"Nope," Edgar replied, smiling teasingly. "I guess you do, though. I mean, you seem to be a fan?"

Fabian stared at him, blinking. "Wow, you really don't know who I am, do you?"

"Should I?" Edgar asked, frowning. "Have we maybe met before? I'm sorry, I'm just not the best with faces…"

Fabian was shaking his head. "No, no, we haven't met. I'd definitely remember you," he added, winking.

"Oh. Sorry then?"

Fabian chuckled. "No, it's fine. Kind of refreshing, actually."

"What, you're famous then?"

"Well, you could say that, I guess." Fabian ran a hand through his hair nervously. His eyes darted to their surroundings and he checked his watch. A heavy sigh escaped his lips. "Well, looks like I have to go. It was very nice to meet you, Edgar."

"It was nice to meet you too," Edgar replied, but before he could ask all the questions burning at the tip of his tongue — _where_ and why was Fabian going? Wasn't he waiting in line for the concert to start like Edgar was? — Fabian had left, vanishing back into the crowd.

"There you are!"

His sister's impatient voice startled him out of his daze, and he turned to greet her with a smile. "Amelia! Happy birthday! How are you?"

"Thank you," his sister replied. "And I'm fine. Thanks again for the tickets, I know this isn't really your scene."

"I wouldn't have thought this was yours either," Edgar admitted quietly.

Amelia shrugged. "Someone at the office introduced us to it, and I guess it grew on me." She paused. "Thanks again for coming. It really means a lot to me."

Edgar smiled back. "Of course. Anything for my baby sister."

" _Edgar!_ "

He laughed loudly at his sister's indignation, well aware that he was the only one who'd dare to provoke her in such a way, and tried to put away his earlier meeting with Fabian.

He thought he had succeeded when Amelia asked him, smiling coyly, "Anyway… Who was that you were talking to earlier?"

"No one really," Edgar replied, waving his hand in the air. "Just some fan, I think."

"Well, did you at least get his number?"

" _Amelia_ ," he sputtered.

His sister laughed. "Oh come on. You're going to end up old and lonely if you don't take a chance on _someone_ at some point in your life."

Edgar glared at her, though he couldn't quite summon the heat that would make it have an actual impact. "You spend too much time with Mother," he grumbled. "I swear you two are plotting against me. I'm perfectly fine being alone."

Amelia's eyes softened. "But you don't have to."

"I'm fine," Edgar reassured her. "Really. You both can stop worrying."

"Never," she replied, but then any further arguing was cut short as the line finally started moving.

* * *

The moment the concert started and the band showed up on stage, Edgar choked on his tongue.

"Wow, are you alright?" Amelia asked him, frowning in his direction.

"I'm fine," Edgar croaked, eyes riveted to the singer seizing the microphone on stage. "I… Who's that?" he asked, pointing at the impossibly familiar man.

Amelia looked at him like he'd lost his mind. "That's Fabian," she said. "He's the lead singer for The Order, though he also sometimes plays some guitar."

Edgar whined.

"Okay, seriously, are you alright?"

Voiceless, Edgar nodded.

Amelia didn't look convinced, but she eventually turned back to the stage. "If you say so," she muttered.

On the stage, Fabian tapped the microphone twice, a dull sound loudly echoing through the stadium. The crowd screamed so loudly that Edgar thought he was going deaf, and Fabian shouted back a welcome to the crowd.

Despite himself, Edgar found his lips quirking up into a grin.

Finally, the crowd quieted some, and Fabian spoke again, his voice slightly softer now. It took Edgar a few seconds to catch his words.

"I know, I know, we're all glad to be here," he was saying. "But if I could please get a few minutes of quiet, there's something I'd like to say."

There were some lone screams in the crowd, but mostly the silence turned expectant.

On the tall screens on each side of the stage, Fabian grinned widely. "I'd like to dedicate this concert to someone special," he started, and immediately the crowd went wild.

Edgar's heart started to race as Fabian laughed and called for the crowd to quiet down again.

"I know, I know," he repeated. "But seriously — Edgar, I know we've quite literally just met, and that you probably don't even really want to be here, but I really hope you enjoy this concert anyway. And, err, if you maybe feel the same way, you could come to my lodge after the show."

And on that note, he stepped down and the music started.

Amelia gripped his arm tight. "Was he talking about you?" She hissed. It was actually impossible to tell if she was angry or excited, and Edgar chuckled nervously. "When did this happen?"

"Ah… Remember that guy I said was 'no one'?"

Amelia stared at him. "No way. There's no way."

Edgar shrugged self-deprecatingly. "Well, apparently there is."

"How? Just how?"

Edgar shrugged again, his eyes drifting back to the scene. "I just… He was nice? We met while I was waiting for you and talked for a little while. That's really all there is to it."

"He just dedicated this concert to _you_ , Edgar."

"Maybe he really liked our talk?" he said sheepishly.

Amelia huffed out a sigh and turned away. "Unbelievable," he heard her whisper under her breath. "Freakin' unbelievable."

She turned back. "Are you at least going to go to him after the concert?" she asked.

Edgar blinked. "I… Should I?"

Amelia stared at him. "He asked you to. Do you like him?"

Edgar felt his cheeks flush pink, and Amelia snorted. "I'll take that as a 'yes'. And you definitely should go, then."

He blinked. "Alright."

"Good," she said. "Now shut up and let me enjoy this concert."

Edgar huffed out a laugh. "Yes, ma'am."

Despite himself, Edgar found himself listening to the music more closely than he ever had before. He still didn't actually like it — there was a bit too much screaming for his tastes — but he could feel his heart beat in rhythm with the battery, and he thought he understood the appeal a little bit better now.

Of course, the fact that the singer was really easy on the eyes helped quite a lot.

Still, Edgar was eager for the thing to end.

And if it wasn't for the same reasons that it would have been hours ago? Well, that wasn't a secret he would ever share.


	21. these petals drifting down slowly

Written for Hogwarts' Meet Cute Marathon: Sometimes I steal flowers from your garden on my way to the cemetery/graveyard, but today you've caught me and have demanded to come with me to make sure the "girl is pretty enough to warrant flower theft" and I'm trying to figure out how to break it to you that we're on our way to a graveyard.

Also for the Writing Club - Character Appreciation: Write about someone poor, Book Club: Glen Bateman - (emotion) curiosity, (trait) wise, (dialogue) "It's okay, [Name]. You don't know any better.", Showtime: Dancing Through Life - (dialogue) "It's clear we deserve each other.", Lyric Alley: Cause time fades, Serpent Day: Hook nosed sea snake- (dialogue) "Subtlety is not your strong point, is it?", Play More Cards Event: Solitaire - write about someone who wants to be alone, Lent: Only characters we don't see in the films, the Insane House Challenge: Action - Stealing, the 365 Prompts Challenge: Plant/Flower - Lily.

 _Word count:_ 1208

* * *

 **these petals drifting down slowly**

"Subtlety is not your strong point, is it?"

The voice, coming from just behind his right ear, startles Fabian enough that he yelps and almost trips on air.

A hand catches him before that can happen though, and Fabian wills his racing heart quiet as he whirls around.

And sure enough, he finds himself staring right at Hot Stranger. The man was thus named a few weeks ago when Fabian first noticed him and his beautiful garden, in virtue of him being both hot and a stranger. Unfortunately, he probably has a girlfriend, seeing as whenever Fabian sees him he's dressed up and carrying his own bouquet of flowers — beautiful arrangements that are clearly professionally made.

Right now, though, Hot Stranger is pulling a very unimpressed face that Fabian definitely shouldn't find as attractive as he does, considering he essentially just got caught red-handed stealing from a stranger.

Hot Stranger stares pointedly at the still dirt-packed flowers Fabian is holding in a poorly made bouquet and arches an eyebrow questioningly. Fabian chuckles weekly and tries to hide the flowers behind his back.

"Would it help if I said it's not what it looks like?" he asks sheepishly.

Hot Stranger's only rise impossibly higher. "Probably not," he says. "But you can always try."

Well, at least he doesn't look mad.

Fabian opens his mouth to spout some ridiculous excuse, but in the end, he can't. Hot Stranger is right: there is really no way he can explain this.

His mouth closes with a small _click_ and he smiles awkwardly again. "Aah, sorry?" He thrusts the bouquet forward. "You can have them if you want," he says, and immediately curses himself when the man's lips quirk up into a smile.

"... I can have my own flowers," he says, and wow, now Fabian really wants to die. "How… generous of you."

His smile widens as Fabian squirms, and then he starts to laugh. He has a nice laugh, the part of him that isn't dying of embarrassment notes.

"Any particular reason you couldn't just do things normally and buy flowers from a florist like everyone else?" he finally asks, laughter warming his voice.

"Of course," he blurts out. It's a lie, of course, and not even a good one at that.

The truth is, he'd been hiding, trying not to be noticed by the man he'd been admiring for a while now, and the flowers had smelled so good, had looked so pretty that he hadn't been able to help himself.

His mother would like them, he'd thought, and before he knew it he had been holding onto a bunch of stolen flowers and wiping fingers sticky with dirt on his trousers.

"They're for my mother," he confesses out loud. He's about to explain that he can pay him back, if he wants — Fabian doesn't have much money, but he should definitely be able to handle one measly bouquet — when Hot Stranger's face softens.

"It's fine," he says, fingers worrying at the bottom of his sleeves. He waves at the flowers. "You can keep them."

Fabian frowns. "Are you sure?" he tries to thrust the bouquet at him again. "I feel bad about this — and my mother would kill me if I told her I'd stolen these off some stranger's garden."

"... Edgar," said stranger replies.

"What?" Fabian asks, blinking in confusion.

"My name's Edgar," Edgar repeats, licking his lips nervously.

"Oh, well, that's nice." _Nice_. Dear god, why is his brain like this? "I mean, it's nice to meet you, Edgar. Given the, err, the circumstances."

Edgar nods politely and Fabian suddenly realizes he's still holding out the flowers. Sheepishly, he lowers his arm. "Are you sure you don't want to give them to your girlfriend, though?"

Edgar startles. "My girlfriend?"

"You know, the one you always take all those flowers to?" Fabian replies, lips quirked up in a teasing smirk as he wiggles his eyebrows.

It's surprisingly easy to talk to Edgar considering they didn't actually know each other an hour ago and that their first interaction was Fabian being caught stealing from Edgar's garden — and yet, Fabian can't help but find it natural.

But that ease ends there as something in Edgar's eyes shutters close. "I think you should go," he says. "Please."

He wants to protest, but the look in Edgar's brown eyes stops him. And so, heart a heavy burden in his chest, Fabian goes.

But he comes back the next day.

And the next.

And the next.

Until finally he sees Edgar again.

The other man seems surprised to see him, stopping midstep on his porch. He's carrying another one of his gorgeous bouquets, white lilies mixed with other pale flowers Fabian doesn't recognize standing out artfully against green leaves.

"Oh, it's you," he says, and Fabian realizes with no small amount of embarrassment that he had never told Edgar his name.

"I'm Fabian," he says. He goes to offer out his hand for a handshake, but turns it into an awkward wave when he remembers that Edgar's hands aren't exactly free at the moment.

For some reason, it makes Edgar smile, and Fabian's heart skips a beat.

"Look, about last time… I'm sorry."

Edgar shrugs and looks away. "It's fine. I'm sorry if I was a bit harsh with you."

This time, Fabian is the one shrugging. "No harm done. I shouldn't have pushed."

Edgar's smile seems to find his lips again and he stares at Fabian for a long time, brow furrowed in thought.

Finally, he steps down his porch so that he's standing next to Fabian. "Do you… Do you want to come with me? Maybe?"

The bouquet under his arm looks even more impressive up close, but Fabian only has eyes for Edgar himself — his shy smile, showing barely there dimples, the faint scar across his left eyebrow that looks like a crescent moon. His everything.

He can't say yes fast enough.

(Fabian doesn't realize where they're heading to until they reach the tall gates of the cemetery.

Even open, the wrought iron looms above them, and Fabian swallows dryly, his heart in his throat.

He stops. "Oh," he says, and he has to blink rapidly to chase the burning in his eyes.

Edgar stays silent until Fabian regains his composure, and then leads him to a small plot not far away from the entrance.

It looks well taken care of, and Edgar rests his bouquet gently on the tombstone.

"My mother," he explains, nodding at the name engraved in gold on the dark stone.

"I'm sorry," Fabian says. He means it not only for making fun of the situation days ago, but also for intruding now.

The words don't feel like they're enough, but they must be, somehow, because Edgar smiles.

"It's okay, Fabian. You didn't know any better."

They stand there for awhile, silent. Edgar's body sways closer to Fabian until their shoulders are brushing — always not quite touching. Edgar feels warm by his side, and it makes Fabian shivers, just a little.

"How inappropriate would it be if I asked you out now?" Fabian asks suddenly.

Edgar chuckles softly. "Pretty inappropriate," he replies. "But I'd say yes, so it's clear we deserve each other.")


	22. burn

Written for Hogwarts' Meet Cute Marathon: This is totally awkward considering before this the only interactions we've ever had have been casual nods to each other in the hallway but there's a huge fucking spider in my bathtub and you seem like the friendly neighbour type please help me.

Also for the Writing Club - Book Club: Trashcan Man -(word) fire, (word) destruction, (color) black, Showtime: What Is This Feeling? - (au) Roommates, Lyric Alley: It was bringin' me down, the Play More Cards Event: Yugioh - write about fighting off a monster, Library Lovers: Game of Thrones - George RR Martin, (creature) Dragons, (dialogue) "Fire cannot kill a dragon.", (plot point) Murder attempt, the 365 Prompts: Genre - Humour, the Insane House Challenge: Creature - Dragon.

 _Word count:_ 1251

* * *

 **burn**

Edgar startled awake at the sound of a shrill scream. He sat up straight in his bed, heart racing in his chest, but all he could hear was silence.

He was starting to wonder if maybe he'd dreamed it all up when someone knocked on his door urgently.

Sighing and then promptly stifling a yawn, Edgar got up and went to answer the door, not even bothering to put on a shirt.

He yanked it open and found himself standing face to face with Fabian, his flatmate.

Due to conflicting schedules, they had never really met before — Edgar worked nights, which was why he'd been asleep just then, while Fabian did whatever it was he did during the days.

It was an odd arrangement, everyone said so, but it worked perfectly well for them.

Still, as he found himself staring at his gaping and blushing housemate, Edgar found himself wishing he had put on a shirt. He crossed his arms protectively and tried to shift so his chest was less visible.

Fabian's eyes snapped up to his face his he moved, his cheeks now almost as red as his hair.

It was then that Edgar noticed Fabian was a little singed around the edges. In fact, his shirt was still smoking.

It was also wet (probably to put out the fire that Edgar could smell the remnants of tickling his nose) and clinging to his body in a very indecent way.

Very smartly, Edgar said, "Uh."

He was saved from figuring out what to say next by a loud roaring followed by an even louder crash.

Fabian flinched. "I can explain," he hastened to say.

Curious, and slightly anxious, Edgar leaned away and looked over Fabian's shoulder at their shared living space.

And promptly nearly let out a shrill scream of his own.

"Is that a _dragon_?!"

"A small one," Fabian said quickly. "It barely counts as a dragon at all, even."

Edgar shook his head, speechless as he watched the dragon — and if this was what Fabian considered 'barely a dragon at all', then Edgar really didn't want to know what a 'real dragon' would be like — nest on their coffee table.

There were many questions swimming around his head, but the one that first fell from his lips was a disbelieving, "Why do you even _have_ a dragon?"

Fabian scratched his ear and looked away. "Ah, that's a long story. Best not to get into it now," he said, coughing awkwardly. "Anyway, I need your help."

Behind them, the dragon coughed and the couch caught on fire. Fabian yelped and jumped halfway into Edgar's room.

For a long moment, Edgar just stood there, unmoving, eyes flicking back and forth between Fabian's shivering form and the flames that were rising higher and higher on their couch.

And then he _moved_ , his wand slashing through the air in a wide arc. Water followed it and drenched the burning sofa. Steam hissed loudly but the flames flickered out.

The sofa was ruined — Edgar didn't think even magic could fix it now — but at least the flat was safe. For now.

He turned back to Fabian. He was honestly too shocked to feel anger, but he knew the emotion was there, at the edge of his perception.

"What the fuck?" Edgar didn't swear often, but here and now, he felt like the profanity was warranted. "Are you trying to murder us?"

"Of course not," Fabian retorted, offended. His head peaked around Edgar's door, and that was how Edgar realized that Fabian had entirely backed into his room.

Edgar paused, his wand finally falling to his side. "Wait, are you afraid of fire?"

Fabian scoffed defensively. "Of course not," he repeated — but it didn't sound as heartfelt as last time. "Fire cannot kill a dragon."

Edgar swallowed back the laughter that rose in his chest. "I don't know if you've noticed, but you're not actually a dragon. And neither am I. And fire can _definitely_ kill us."

Fabian winced. "But everything's fine now. See? Nothing's on fire anymore."

Edgar rolled his eyes at him. "That would be because I just put it out. Now, I believe you were going to explain to me why there's a dragon sitting in our living-room?"

Fabian chuckled nervously. "I'm just looking after him for the afternoon. He'll be gone by ten at the latest, I swear."

"As will how much of the room, I wonder," Edgar drawled.

"None," Fabian spluttered back. He took a look around and then amended that to, "Well, not any more than now." He winced. " _I hope_."

Edgar was pretty sure he wasn't supposed to catch that last part, and he willfully pretended he hadn't heard anything.

Now that the worst of the crisis seemed to have passed, he cast a longing look at the clock, confirming that he had indeed gotten far too few hours of sleep to be a functioning person at his work tonight.

But somehow he couldn't imagine himself managing to fall back to sleep with a _dragon_ just a room away.

He sighed. Loudly. "I'll forgive you for this — as long as this-" he gestured at the dragon, now peacefully puffing out little clouds of black smoke on their coffee table and ignoring the destruction it had caused, "is gone when I come back tomorrow morning. And," he added, because the way he saw it he deserved it, "I'm going to need coffee."

Fabian laughed, the sound coming out in a little relieved sigh. "Sure. I can definitely do coffee." He laughed again, but the sound cut off suddenly and his cheeks flushed red.

"A-ah," he stuttered, wringing his hands, "maybe you could put on a shirt first though?"

Edgar blinked, and then it was his turn to blush violently as he became acutely aware that he indeed was only still wearing his sleeping trousers. "Yes. I should… go do that," he said, and then ducked around Fabian to enter his room.

He closed the door behind him and slid down against it, suddenly aware that his heart was racing and his cheeks were burning — and it had nothing to do with the earlier fire.

" _Shit_ ," he whispered, biting his cheek.

Unfortunately, he couldn't hide forever — especially since Fabian was waiting for him with the sweet, sweet promise of caffeine. He picked a shirt at random and pulled it on, ran a hand through his hair and then cast a scrubbing spell on himself to get rid of the half-burnt smell he undoubtedly carried before swinging the door open again.

Fabian greeted him with a smile and waved him over, showing off a fuming cup of coffee like it was an offering.

Edgar's lips quirked up into a smile and his heart fluttered in his chest as he walked over.

(That evening, leaving felt like a chore.

"So, I guess I'll see you around?" Edgar asked, nervously biting his lips. He didn't even know _why_ he was nervous, Merlin.

Fabian laughed. "We do live together," he replied — and yes, he definitely had a point there.

Moving out from his parents' house into some random apartment he shared in London, closer to his workplace, had clearly been a good decision, despite what his siblings had told him countless times.)

(Edgar was almost late to work that night. His coworkers commented on the odd smell of smoke that wouldn't leave him — but more than that, they remarked on the smile that seemed stuck to his face.)


	23. please be tender

Written for Hogwarts' Meet Cute Marathon: I'm sorry I was too mesmerised by you to see the pole. What do ya mean I'm bleeding?

Also for the Writing Club - Showtime: For Good - (genre) Friendship, Lyric Alley: Maybe when I get older, Liza's Love: Sweet City - Write about a kid in a sweet shop, the Play More Cards Event: Rook - write about someone pure, the Insane House Challenge: Location - Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour, the 365 Prompts Challenge: Trait - Sweet, the Serpent Day Event: Water moccasin- (object) spoon and the Muggle Music Assignment: Task #9: "I Just Can't Wait to be King" (The Lion King): Write about someone look forward to the future.

 _Word count:_ 947

* * *

 **please be tender**

Fabian's favorite place on Earth was Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor. Not only was it full of all the most delicious things in the world, but Florean sounded kind of close to Fabian, a fact that the ice cream maker himself had remarked upon more than once, right before offering Fabian a taste of the flavor of his choice.

He did the same for Gideon and Molly too, obviously, but Fabian always got the first pick.

Maybe that was why his twin preferred the Quidditch Supplies shop to the ice cream parlor, and why Fabian was now there alone, a handful of Sickles jingling in his pocket as he perused the menu while his brother was undoubtedly drooling at the newest broom (a Cleanswipe something, probably).

But this was the first time they were allowed to go to Diagon Alley on their own (unfortunately Molly was still too young for that, but soon she'd come to Hogwarts with them, and then she'd be able to be there too), so it was probably fine that they'd split up to do the things they each wanted to.

Finally, Fabian decided on the surprise flavor. He had always been tempted by it, but due to the magic involved it was a bit more expensive than the others — and also his parents had always been afraid he'd hate it and refuse to finish it.

As if.

Florean, cheeks flushed red with happiness, handed him his cone, a tiny silver spoon speared at the top. He winked and whispered, "I added a scoop of your favorite too. On the house."

Fabian grinned back and walked back outside, settling at his favorite table, the one overwatching the entire street, as he savored his treat.

It tasted amazing, like what Fabian imagined could would taste like. It was fresh and sweet, a little bit like lemon but also definitely not that, and it tingled on his tongue like he was eating pure magic.

He took his time to savor it, and his eyes drifted to the people coming in and out of the ice cream parlor.

And that was when he saw _him_. _The_ boy. The cutest one Fabian had ever seen, with fluffy reddish hair and the ugliest glasses perched on his nose.

His spoon dropped from his mouth, clanging loudly as it hit the table.

He craned his neck to keep looking as the boy walked toward a free table, leaning sideways in his chair so he could keep better track of him.

He didn't even notice it when the chair slid out from underneath him, sending him down to the ground violently. His chin banged on the table on his way down and Fabian yelped loudly.

He came back staring into the pretty boy's concerned eyes.

"Are you alright?" he asked, frowning.

Fabian blinked, blushing a little. He rose to his feet slowly, dusting himself off before offering the widest grin he could to him. "I'm fine, thank you."

For some reason, the boy didn't look very reassured. "You're bleeding," he said.

Oh. Right. Now that he had said it, Fabian could indeed taste the coppery tang of blood on his tongue. He prodded at his lips gently, and winced when his fingers came back red. "I'm fine," he repeated. "I just bit my lips when I fell. I'll be just fine."

The boy stood there, body swaying a little. He looked almost awkward like this, but also very cute, and Fabian grinned wider, barely flinching when the cut on his lips stung something fierce. "I'm Fabian," he said, holding out his hand. "You can sit with me if you want."

"I'm Edgar," the boy replied. He didn't shake Fabian's hand though, and Fabian's cheeks flushed red in embarrassment as he realized that his fingers were still covered in his blood.

In the end, though, Edgar did sit at his table so he couldn't have minded Fabian's misstep all that much.

He prodded at his half-melted ice cream — shame, he always preferred it cold — and watched as Edgar ate his. His mind drifted, already imagining how nice it would be to see more of Edgar in the future.

They could even go on dates. He wondered if the other boy also went to Hogwarts — he was sure he'd have noticed him if he did, but he supposed it was possible they might have missed each other.

He wondered, swallowed a mouthful of his cloudlike ice cream — it stang a little against his lips, but Fabian was too distracted to focus on the pain now — and asked.

"So, do you go to Hogwarts too?"

Edgar nodded and licked his lips. Fabian's eyes tracked the movement, and he blushed even fiercer when he realized he'd been doing it. "Yes. I'm in Hufflepuff. And you?"

Fabian grinned. "I'm in Gryffindor!" he replied, ecstatic. "We should be friends," he added, heart racing in his chest.

 _Please say yes, please say yes_ , he chanted in his mind, trying not to vibrate in excitement.

Edgar's eyes went wide. "You want to be friends with me?"

Fabian nodded eagerly. "Of course." Well, he wanted to be _more than friends_ , technically, and do stuff like hold hands and hug and go out to Hogsmeade together, but he figured friends would be a nice start.

The rest could come later.

Edgar blinked rapidly, and slowly, a smile bloomed on his lips. It looked a little like a sunrise, and Fabian felt his heart skip in his chest.

He quickly shoved a spoonful of ice cream into his mouth to keep himself from doing something embarrassing like coo, and he grinned back.


	24. oh where would we rise?

Written for Hogwarts' Meet Cute Marathon: A checks into a cozy inn while on a cross-country road trip, beyond tired and ready to collapse. When A gets to the assigned room, he or she is in for a surprise! Someone else, B, is already in the room. Uh-oh.

Also for the Writing Club - Character Appreciation: (Setting) A magical tent, Disney Challenge: Poverty - Write a homeless!AU, Book Club: Randall Flagg: (word) dark, (ability) shapeshifting, (trope) amnesia, (au) demon, Days of the Month: Ballet Day - Write a fic inspired by Swan Lake, Lyric Alley: But I hate changin', Restriction of the Month: (Song) Beautiful by Christina Aguilera, Liza's Loves: Ballet Ruse - Write a swan lake AU, the Insane House Challenge: AU - Angels and Demons, the 365 Prompts Challenge: Colour - Amber, the Library Lovers: The Shadowhunter Chronicles - Cassandra Clare, (au) Angels and Demons, (plot point) Tattoos, (word) Circle and the Care of Magical Creatures Assignment: Task #2: Write about an unspeakable crime, the Disney Challenge: Song: Never Had a Friend Like Me, Word: Street, AU: Homeless, Serpent Day Event: Green anaconda - (object) apple.

 _Word count:_ 1887

* * *

 **oh where would we rise?**

" _I will take it. I will take the ring to Mordor, though I do not know the way."  
\- Frodo, Lord of the Rings_

Edgar didn't remember for how long he had been on the road.

In fact, he wasn't even sure his name was _Edgar_. It felt right, though, in the way not much else did. The tattoos that seemed to cover every inch of his skin, dark circles that itched whenever Edgar thought about them, certainly didn't.

His whole body felt _wrong_ somehow, to tell the truth, like he didn't quite fit in it. It ached with loss at the oddest times, like he had lost something infinitely precious, but there was nothing Edgar could do about it. He had found a doctor — or well, an ex-doctor, who had lost his license because of malpractice and then everything else because of alcohol — two towns back, and the man had told him it would probably stop when his memories came back.

 _If_ his memories came back — and somehow, Edgar didn't feel like they would anytime soon.

Some days, he wasn't even sure he wanted them to. After all, surely they had to be terrible if his mind wouldn't let him remember?

Because he had nightmares every night, terrible dreams that left him shaking on whatever surface he'd found for the night, certain that he'd done horrible things in another life. In those dreams, he Fell and he _burned_ and he screamed for help, calling out a name he never remembered come morning, but no one ever came.

Needless to say that he didn't sleep much.

And so he wandered instead. Day or night didn't really matter to him — muggers and thieves had quickly learned not to approach him if they wanted to keep all their limbs attached anyway.

He just walked. He had no real destination, no real goal. He figured he'd know it when he'd see it.

But today felt different. Tonight was the full moon, for one — things always felt different on the full moon, though he couldn't say why — and for two, Edgar was tired. Exhaustion tugged at his limbs, rendering them heavy and clumsy.

But he somehow managed not to fall asleep while standing and, looking around, he realized that he must have reached a forest some time ago. The trees, tall and old, seemed to groan and moan as he walked, and the further he went in, the darker it became, even though he knew it must still be in the middle of the day.

Eventually, he saw a golden light in the distance, flickering softly as it filtered through the cover of trees.

 _A clearing, probably_ , his mind supplied him with, and Edgar headed there.

It was odd — he wasn't even thinking about his tattoos this time, and yet they started to itch as though he had. The itch intensified with every step he took, but Edgar didn't stop. Something egged him onward — and then, as suddenly as it had started, the itch simply vanished.

He had reached the clearing — but it wasn't _just_ a clearing like he had thought. A pond stood there, its waters a shimmering blue-green, and Edgar suddenly felt at peace, as though a part of him that had been missing all along had suddenly been returned to him.

No one was around — just a lone swan, swimming circles on the pond. Edgar stared at him for a moment, trying to understand why his heart was suddenly racing, or why this swan felt… almost familiar.

He stepped into the clearing and immediately the swan let out a loud cry, its huge wings flapping on the water. Edgar took a step back and almost left — and he would have, except that he saw the tent first.

It looked… Well, honestly, from the outside it didn't look like much. The cloth was a dirty green, and it looked like it had been there for awhile, but Edgar had seen much worse.

Hell, he had _slept_ in much worse. These days, the promise of some protection from the elements or simply a place off the street was as good as it got.

The swan cried out again as Edgar stepped toward the tent — clearly it didn't approve of Edgar's intentions.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, not quite sure why he was bothering to talk to a _swan_ , of all things. "I just need to rest. Just one night, and I'll be out of your hair. Or well, feathers, I guess."

Strangely enough, that seemed to appease the creature. Not that it mattered, because the instant he entered the tent, Edgar knew he wouldn't be leaving it until at least the next day.

It was bigger on the inside, and it didn't look much like a tent at all. There were several rooms — a kitchen, where Edgar grabbed an apple that he snaked on as he explored, a bathroom (though where the running water came from was yet another question) and, even better, a bedroom, with an actual bed.

Edgar didn't even remember the last time he'd slept in a real bed — probably back when he had first woken up in the hospital with his memory gone.

He collapsed onto it and fell asleep the instant his head touched the pillow.

.

Edgar was too warm. It felt uncomfortable, but not the kind of uncomfortable he'd come to associate with his nightmares — rather, it felt like something was pinning him down, like something hot was sprawled across his chest.

His eyes fluttered open and he found himself staring at fine red hair. For an instant, he thought it was his, but no. The color wasn't right — also, in that position, there was no way he could see his own hair so well.

Heart racing, he sat up carefully.

There was someone else in the bed with him. A man, slightly slimmer than him but not taller. He was sleeping, dark circles underneath his eyes casting shadows on his face.

His skin tingled where they touched, and Edgar had to hurriedly withdraw his hand — he hadn't even noticed he was reaching out until his fingertips were already grazing against soft skin.

It had barely been a touch, but apparently, that was enough, because the man started to shift, eyelids fluttering and unveiling amber eyes.

"It is you," the man whispered fervently. "I didn't think I would ever see you again." He laughed and reached out to Fabian, his fingers halting midway as his eyes fell on Edgar's exposed tattoos. Slowly, almost as though he was afraid of Edgar's reaction, his fingers continued their path to Edgar's bare skin.

They felt pleasantly warm against the dark ink, and goosebumps rose on his skin as he started to trace the intricate circles.

Edgar didn't want the moment to end, but he couldn't let it continue. Not when this man was so clearly confused about who Edgar was.

Not when _Edgar_ was so confused about who this man was.

"I'm sorry," he said, "but I don't know who you are."

Why, oh why did these words make his chest ache and his eyes burn?

"I'm Fabian," the man replied. He looked terribly sad — nothing like his earlier glee at seeing Edgar, and Edgar was surprised by the sudden urge to change that.

 _It wasn't right_ , his mind whispered, _for Fabian to look so sad._

"I'm Edgar. It's nice to meet you. Sorry I crashed into your bed. I, err, I didn't know it was occupied."

For some reason, that made Fabian smirk. "Oh, you're welcome in my bed anytime, _Edgar_."

Fabian spoke his name like it was a familiar thing already, like he hadn't needed Edgar to say it.

He thought back to an 'Oh, it's you,' and realized belatedly that he probably hadn't. Whereas Edgar had needed to be told Fabian's name.

The thought felt sad, but he couldn't pinpoint why.

Fabian's fingers were still tracing his tattoos, and both their eyes had fallen to them at some point.

"They're not tattoos, are they?" Edgar suddenly asked.

Fabian shook his head, fingers stilling against Edgar's arm before resuming their course. "No, they're not," he confirmed. He didn't look up, but his jaw clenched. His fingers shook a little too, but hadn't they been touching, Edgar wouldn't have noticed. "They're… seals, in a way," he said. "Chains."

Edgar's blood ran cold. "Chains?"

Fabian sighed as he withdrew his hand. "In a way. They keep you — keep us — from who we really are."

Edgar's head snapped up. "You have them too?" His mouth felt dry and he tasted bile at the back of his throat.

Instead of speaking, Fabian bared his neck. It wasn't quite a circle — and God, Edgar was starting to hate those — but it was undeniably similar to the marks on Edgar's skin.

His fingers were tracing it softly before he even realized he'd moved. Fabian's eyes fluttered shut for a moment, and he exhaled a quiet sigh. "What do these do?" he asked.

"They trap me," he said. "I — I Fell before they could complete the binding, but… Part of it still works."

It hit him then. It didn't make sense — except for the fact that it did. "The swan."

Fabian's lips quirked up in a humorless smile. "The swan," he confirmed. At Edgar's horrified look, he gave a weak chuckle. "It's not that bad, really. At least half the time I still have my wings."

"... Your wings?" The mere word caused a gap to open in Edgar's stomach, dark and roiling. He ached with loss, and that was familiar, but for the first time, he could name it.

"I — You knew me, before."

Fabian nodded. "I did. And you knew me."

"I wished I remembered." And he did. Right now, he really did — because if someone like Fabian had been in his past, then surely it couldn't be as bad as he'd feared. "I — Tell me what happened. Please."

Fabian's eyes looked impossibly old as he stared at Edgar's face. "Are you sure?"

" _Yes_."

Fabian nodded, and then he spoke.

He spoke of heaven — of home, where everything was good and balanced.

He spoke of a war — a terrible war most hadn't even realized they were fighting. He spoke of an attack, a betrayal no one had seen coming.

They had fought, he said, but our enemy beat us. They made us Fall.

It was unforgivable, he said, and Edgar had to agree. Just the word _Fall_ made him shiver. It made his stomach twist painfully and caused his head to spin.

It felt forbidden.

"So, angels, uh?" he quipped, trying to distract himself from the dread.

The thought of him as an angel was almost laughable, after all — and yet it felt right.

It _was_ right.

Fabian chuckled back, mirthless. "Well, not anymore." He looked… defeated like this. Like he had given up.

It was like a fire ignited in Edgar's veins at the sight. He took Fabian's hands in his and held on tight, staring straight into his eyes, anger burning bright and warming him from the inside.

"We'll get it back. We'll get it all back." He paused and stared deeper into the eyes of this man — this angel — he knew he should remember but couldn't.

"We won't let Voldemort and his demons win."


	25. I write a path to you

Written for Hogwarts' Meet Cute Marathon: The character is doing research for a true crime book and they get drawn in too deep.

Also for Religious Education: Task #2: Write about a symbol that has bad connotations, the Writing Club - Count Your Buttons: Serial Killer!AU, the Insane House Challenge: Job - Policeman, the 365 Prompts Challenge: Plot Point - A character finds something, the Fairytale Week Event: Lizzy - Rapunzel, Feeling lonely or isolated, Kidnapped!AU, Item: Lantern.

 _Word count:_ 1464

* * *

 **I write a path to you**

Fabian tugged at his bonds hopelessly. They didn't give an inch and his stomach dropped.

He knew he should have listened to his brother. "You don't want to pursue this, Fabian," Gideon had said. "It's too dangerous."

Fabian, idiot that he was, had only laughed. "I'm a writer," he replied. "I need to do some research for my next novel, and what better way than to investigate Voldemort and his Death Eaters?"

His brother had only grown more concerned, of course, but Fabian had reassured him, telling him he'd be careful. "Come on, Gideon," he'd said, laughter in his voice, "I'll just be looking at a few crimes scenes and old newspapers articles. What's the worst that could happen?"

Famous last words. He should have left it well enough alone and listened to his brother. there were plenty of other serial killers he could have used for his book — plenty of _dead_ serial killers, to be more exact — but no, Fabian had to choose Voldemort.

In his defense, though, the man (if he could even be called that anymore) was fascinating. No serial killer had ever managed to gather so many followers before — followers who committed their own crimes but always, always under Voldemort's mark.

Because Voldemort also left a mark. The papers had called it the Dark Mark, and by now, two years after Voldemort had first appeared, just the sight of it was enough to send shivers into the bravest of hearts.

But Fabian had really done only what he'd told his brother he would do: he had visited a few crime scenes where the Dark Mark still stood and he had done plenty of research in old newspapers articles.

He hadn't really expected to find anything except inspiration for his next crime story, but he had stumbled upon something. An old article mentioning the death of an old couple of Little Hangleton. There had been no Dark Mark, but everything else — the way the corpses had been arranged, the room meticulously cleaned of any evidence — had been Voldemort's exact MO.

Only that article was dated from ten years _before_ Voldemort's first reported crime.

From then, it had been easy to find a certain Tom Riddle Jr. — a troubled child who had been raised in an orphanage and that the matron still remembered as mean and violent.

And then the next thing he knew, someone had hit him in the head, and here he was now, tied up in a chair under a lantern that barely emitted any light and in some leaky basement, his head pounding as his heart raced in his chest.

Two Death Eaters, recognizable by their featureless white masks and dark robes, had already been by, asking him questions.

Fabian was desperately trying to forget what they'd done to him when he hadn't answered.

But he could hold on a little bit longer.

He had to hold on a little bit longer.

Someone would come after him. He knew it.

(He hoped for it.)

.

The sound of gunfire startled Fabian out of his slumber. His chair swang dangerously, and for a heart-stopping moment, he thought it would tip.

Outside, the gunfire only intensified and Fabian managed to distinguish the call of 'Police' amidst the shouting.

He was so relieved a few tears escaped from his eyes and he redoubled his efforts at getting out of his bonds. He tried to scream but his mouth was so dry he barely managed out a croaking sound before dissolving into a coughing fit.

Moments later, the door to his cell was blown off its hinges and a policeman stepped in.

It probably wasn't the right time for that, but Fabian's first thought was _Holy shit, he's hot_.

His second was _I know what I'm going to write_.

And at last, his third was a thankful prayer that he was getting rescued.

"Who are you?" he managed to croak out between his dry lips, addressing the man now making quick work of the bonds around his wrists.

"Detective Edgar Bones," the man replied, his brown eyes appearing almost dark from his focus. "And you must be Fabian. Your brother told us about you."

"All lies," Fabian replied, forcing a smile. "I'm much more handsome."

Edgar chuckled, bending down to cut the rope around Fabian's ankles. His eyes flicked up and down Fabian's body, and he smirked. It lasted half a second, but it was enough to make Fabian's heart skip a beat. "Very handsome," he confirmed before sobering up. "Can you walk?"

Fabian dearly wanted to say _yes_ and impress _Detective Bones_ by manly walking out of there, but he was fairly certain his legs wouldn't carry him past the first step, if even that.

He winced and admitted, "I don't think so."

Edgar nodded. "Here," he said, gently grabbing hold of Fabian's right arm and pulling it over shoulders, "you can lean on me."

He took it back. This was a hundred times better than manly walking out of here.

He didn't really enjoy it as much as he wished. He hurt too much — standing up had reopened at least three stab wounds on his abdomen, and he could feel the blood starting to trickle down his skin.

To keep his mind off the pain, he tried to make conversation. It was difficult, considering how dry his mouth still was — it made the words stick in his mouth, and he ran out of breath quickly.

"Stop talking," Edgar kept admonishing him. "Save your breath."

But still, he answered all of Fabian's questions, such as how they had found him.

Thanks to his research apparently, though Gideon had been the one to bring it forward when Fabian hadn't picked up one of Molly's calls.

God, he had never been gladder for nosy siblings.

Stepping outside and feeling fresh air on his face felt so good he stopped and closed his eyes, momentarily forgetting he wasn't alone. Edgar's much more sudden stop jarred his wounds and he hissed.

"Shit, sorry," Edgar said, his hands hovering so close to Fabian's body he could feel their heat through his clothes. "Are you alright?"

Fabian could feel himself grinning widely. "Well, I'm no longer tied up in some dirty basement and awaiting death, and I got rescued by a very handsome guy — so, all in all, things could be worse."

He opened his eyes and winced at the sudden stab of pain in his head. He suddenly became aware of how light-headed he was and he swang on his feet. Luckily, Edgar caught him before he could fall.

"I don't think you're alright," he stated. Fabian could hear him frowning.

"You're probably right," he admitted. Dark spots were filling his vision and he could feel consciousness slipping through his fingers. "I think I'm going to faint."

Edgar stared at him in alarm. "You what?"

Fabian opened his mouth to answer, but he never quite made it that far. The darkness won and he pitched forward.

The last thing he was aware of before sweet, sweet darkness was a pair of strong arms catching him once again.

.coda.

"Did you really have to call him 'Detective Ulna'?" Edgar grumbled, his copy of _Behind The Mark_ , Fabian's latest book, held in his hands.

Fabian laughed and laced his arms around Edgar's shoulders. "Would you rather I had named him 'Bones'? That's a bit on the nose, don't you think?"

Edgar rolled his eyes. "I still can't believe you made me the love interest."

Fabian smirked, eyes dropping to Edgar's lips. "Well, what else could you be? Such a smart, brave, _handsome_ detective," Fabian said, punctuating every word with a peck to Edgar's lips. "I really had no other choice."

He drew back and Edgar chased after his lips. "You're an idiot," he huffed out, his smile infusing his words with warmth.

"You love me anyway," Fabian retorted.

Edgar smirked. He put down the book and moved his hands to Fabian's waist. "Maybe," he teased.

"Maybe?" Fabian sputtered.

"Yes," Edgar replied, eyes twinkling with mirth. "After all, I heard that 'Detective Ulna' was very torn between his two potential loves."

"Oh God, for the last time — you're not 'Detective Ulna'!" He laughed too much to keep going, Edgar's fingers digging into his side mercilessly.

"Maybe I should make you the villain in the next book instead," he muttered once he finally managed to catch his breath. "You're certainly clever enough."

Edgar chuckled. "I thought I _wasn't_ 'Detective Ulna'?"

"Oh hush you," Fabian retorted, burying his head in the crook of Edgar's neck to hide his burning cheeks. "You know what I mean."

Edgar chuckled, his chest rumbling, and Edgar smiled.


	26. I love it when you call (say hi)

Written for Hogwarts' Meet Cute Event: I joined this stupid dating website to troll people and then I met you, who also joined this site to troll people. The more we talk about how stupid some of these people are the more I'm starting to like you.

Also for the Writing Club - Character Appreciation: (Word) Snake Bite, Disney Challenge: Iago - Use the dialogue; "Sheesh, where'd you dig this bozo up?", Showtime: Something Bad - (character) Newt Scamander, Count Your Buttons: Official, "We all know it's true.", Toy, Lyric Alley: I'm a little bit angry, Liza's Loves: Cobra's Fang - Write about a snake's bite, Jenny's Jovial Quotations: "They call it 'surfing' the net. It's not surfing. It's typing in your bedroom." - Jack Dee, the Serpent Day Event: Wolf snake- (dialogue) "We even made friendship bracelets.", the Insane House Challenge: Dialogue - "What am I supposed to do?", the 365 Prompts Challenge: AU - Online Dating!AU.

 _Word count:_ 1637

* * *

 **I love it when you call (say hi)**

 **Hey, you around?**

Fabian had been planning on working, but as usual, a mere message from Edgar — or _bonesfan95_ , as the pseudonym that flashed on his smartphone's screen proclaimed — was enough to have him open up the ridiculous dating app they had found each other on.

A smile played on his lips as he stared at Edgar's profile picture as he waited for the page to load. It was clearly a badly photoshopped picture of a young Tom Cruise, but Fabian knew Edgar had received plenty of actual dating offers based on it.

Fabian would have mocked him terribly for it, except that, a, he had done the same thing, if with a different actor, and b, that picture was pretty much the reason they had started talking.

 **I'm here. What's up?**

 **Look at those!**

A link was attached to the message and, intrigued, Fabian followed it. He found himself on a page from _Hogwarts_ , which was the name of the dating app — it claimed to be able to 'magically' help you find your one true love — staring at the picture of a mousy brown-haired man holding a mandy dog in his arms. The dog held one of those squeaky toys in his mouth, and he was adorable.

 _Newt Scamander_ , the profile said.

 **He's kind of cute**.

He sent his message back to Edgar and started scrutinizing the profile for whatever Edgar had wanted to show him, as he doubted the picture was the whole of it.

Three little dates blinked on his screen, and Fabian found that his fingers were taping his leg nervously as he waited for an answer.

 **Do you think his name is real?**

Fabian wasn't surprised when, only moments later, a second message popped up.

 **Bet you it's not**.

It was a game they played: one of them would get bored and find some random profile from _Hogwarts_ , and then they'd bet on how likely it was to be real.

 **I don't know, his picture seems pretty legit to me. Why would he bother faking a name?**

Silence, then another text.

 **Check out his videos.**

Curious, Fabian did.

It immediately became apparent that this Newt was very fond of animals. Most of them featured his dog in some way — the mutt seemed to have a talent for mischief — but some featured some more… exotic animals.

 **Omg, is that a snake?**

 **Sheesh, where'd you dig this bozo up?**

 **Keep watching.**

Fabian could just imagine the gleeful expression Edgar was wearing right now — he would know, since he pulled one that was probably similar whenever he stumbled onto some particularly terrible profile.

(The last one he'd sent Edgar, two days ago, had been under the name of _Voldemort_. It had been creepy more than anything, but the numerous comments left on that profile from a woman named Bellatrix had also made it hilarious.)

On screen, Newt's smile kept getting wider as he extolled on the virtues of his snake. She wore a thin thread around of neck — because of course the snake was a she — and Newt showed off his wrist where a similar bracelet hung. "Look, we've even made friendship bracelets," he was telling the camera, and Fabian almost died laughing.

The video kept going in the same tone after that, though Fabian found himself thinking that Newt was _perhaps_ being a little too enthusiastic in his movements, as his snake didn't look too happy with him — and instants later he was proven right when the long black reptile reared its head and struck.

He was still wincing and avoiding looking too closely at his screen as he typed his next message to Edgar.

 **That snake bite looks nasty. Do you think he's okay?**

 **He's fine.**

 **He posted another video after that and he was back with the snake too.**

Which, seriously, what the fuck? He told Edgar as much, and smiled at the laughing emoji he got in return.

 **Okay but seriously, why is that posted on a dating app?**

 **Who'd watch those videos and want to date him still?**

…

 **It might serve as a warning?**

 **But let's admit it, this is hardly the worst thing we've seen around here.**

 **True.**

 **It could have been porn.**

 **Anyway, I do agree that this name sounds… fake.**

 **It's a little too convenient.**

 **I told you so.**

 **Still, I'll bet it's his actual name.**

 **You're sure?**

 **Yeah.**

He was about to add more when his brother suddenly crashed on his bed, snatching his phone out of his hand and sending the carefully stacked (and untouched) homework on the covers flying.

"Ooh, is that your boyfriend?" Gideon teased. "Come on, don't deny it — we all know it's true."

Fabian yelped and dove after his phone, his cheeks burning. His twin laughed as he held it away from Fabian's grasp, and soon enough they were wrestling — and falling off the bed.

"Oomph," Fabian moaned. He took advantage of how stunned his brother was to snatch back his phone, shouting triumphantly.

At least he did — until his eyes fell on the still open app. There stood a message he knew he hadn't typed, and Fabian stared at his brother in horror.

"You didn't."

Gideon rolled his eyes as he pulled himself up to his knees. "I had to. You were being pitiful — even Mum was starting to notice. I heard her mumbling earlier, saying," and there his face scrunched up like he was trying to remember their mother's exact words, "They call it 'surfing' the net. It's not surfing. It's typing in your bedroom."

Fabian scowled — that was clearly in reply to the way he'd mistakenly told her couldn't help up with dinner because he was 'surfing the web', when in truth he had been talking with Edgar.

So, alright, maybe his twin had a point — maybe he had sort of developed a _slight_ crush on his faceless partner in crime. But he'd been handling it just fine, there had been no need for _this_.

Gideon's message, **So hey, do you maybe want to meet someday?** , felt like it was taunting him. Edgar had seen it too, so it was too late to delete it — and yet he hadn't replied.

Fabian's heart raced in his chest, and why hadn't Edgar replied yet?

He glared at his brother. "You had no right to do this."

"Look, I'm sorry, but I was tired of watching you dance around this 'thing' you two have. For God's sake, Fabian, you grin at your phone every time he sends you a message."

"They're funny," Fabian replies weakly. "And just because you were trying to help doesn't mean I forgive you."

He was about to add something else when his phone vibrated in his hand and he lost his train of thought.

"Shit, he replied. What am I supposed to do?"

"... You read his message? You've never had trouble with that before," Gideon retorted, shaking his head in disbelief.

"But what if…" The words died in his mouth, too terrible to consider.

"Trust me, he's going to say yes. No one texts someone they don't like that much," Gideon said. "Or answers so quickly when you text them."

When Fabian kept staring distrustfully at his phone, Gideon rolled his eyes and muttered, "It's official, my brother's an idiot," before snatching Fabian's phone again.

Fabian launched himself at his brother again, but this time Gideon held him back with one hand, laughing as with the other he unlocked Fabian's phone and started reading out loud.

"Oh, look, he said yes. What a shock."

Fabian froze. "What, really?" His heart soared inside his chest. He felt light-headed, and this time Gideon didn't stop him when he tried to reach for his phone.

It did indeed say so right there, **Yes.**

As Fabian watched, fingers shaking, another message popped up.

 **I'd like that. Would you be free this Saturday?**

Fabian's fingers had typed out a yes of his own before he could even try to remember his schedule.

Not that he cared — whatever he had to do on Saturday (if there was something) couldn't be more important than this.

"I still don't forgive you," he spoke suddenly, narrowed eyes drifting to his brother as he tried to sneak out of the room.

Gideon pouted. "Oh come on, really? I just helped you score a hot date." He paused, as though something just hit him. "Wait, do you even know if he's hot?"

Fabian blushed and pointedly refused to answer that question, focusing on his phone instead and planning his Saturday date with Edgar. "Weren't you trying to _leave_?" he asked.

Gideon chuckled. "Alright, alright, I see how it is. You help a brother out and you only get scorn for it. See if I ever do anything for you again."

"Good," Fabian retorted. "I'd rather you stop meddling in my life now, please."

He didn't hear it when Gideon left.

Once again, he lost himself in talking with Edgar. Only this time it felt different — this time, there was a little voice in his head, counting down the days until they would meet.

He found himself wondering what Edgar looked like. It was hardly the first time he did, but that too felt different now.

His fingers hovered above his keyboard before he finally typed in his next message.

 **Would you send me a real picture of you?**

 **So I can recognize you on Saturday?**

Instead of a text, Edgar sent him a picture, and Fabian grinned.

 **You look much better than your profile picture would have led me to think.**

It was a joke — but it was also true.

Edgar replied with only two words:

 **Your turn.**


	27. the thing that perches upon the soul

Written for Hogwarts' Meet Cute Marathon: You joined a mob. The boss asks you to prove your loyalty by killing your crush. Failure to prove your loyalty will result in your loved ones dying. You look around the room at all the pictures and notice your crush is the child of the mafia boss.

Also for Library Lovers: The Godfather - Mario Puzo, (au) Mafia, (plot point) A wedding, (word) Favor, the Writing Club: Days of the Month: Hedgehog Day - Write about someone who looks cute but is quite prickly or dangerous, Lyric Alley: As life breaks new ground, Liza's Loves: Godfather - Write a mafia AU, the 365 Prompts Challenge: Plot Point - Protecting Someone, the Insane House Challenge: AU - Muggle.

 _Word count:_ 1045

* * *

 **the thing that perches upon the soul**

Well, this was awkward. Fabian couldn't believe he had listened to Mr. Bones extol on his three children's virtues for half an hour before the man deigned to announce that Fabian joining the Family meant some sacrifices.

"A favor, if you will," the man said, his grin oily and smug.

But Fabian needed this — his little sister was sick, and though his twin had a good job it wasn't enough money to help her the way she deserved — and so he asked, "What do I have to do?"

"Prove to me that you mean business. Kill the person you love. Or the one that you — what do kids call it these days? — have a crush on."

Fabian's heart skipped a beat and he chuckled nervously. For the nth time this meeting, his eyes drifted back to the photos of Mr. Bones' family, proudly displayed on his desk.

There, a picture of Edgar, Mr. Bones' eldest son, and the one set to inherit the family business, of course, seemed to be mocking him.

See, Edgar and he shared a Business class. They had never talked, but Fabian had been watching (mooning, his brother would say) him for months now, trying to gather the nerve to go up to the prettiest boy he'd ever seen and say 'hi'.

He hadn't yet, but he had been going to — it just looked like his moment was going to come a little faster than anticipated.

"I accept," he said out loud, dragging his eyes away from Edgar's smiling face just in time to see Mr. Bones nod slightly and move to open a drawer on his desk.

The gun he took out chilled Fabian's blood. It felt cool in his hand, and heavy, and he pocketed it silently.

he left without another word.

.

The next day, he cornered Edgar after classes, pulling him into an empty classroom before the other boy had time to resist — though from the corded muscles he could feel under his grip, Edgar could have easily stopped him if he'd wanted to.

"Has anyone ever told you that your people skills could use some refinements?" Edgar asked him as soon as Fabian had closed the door.

Fabian gaped — and then he realized: Edgar's stance was too relaxed, too knowing.

"Your father told you, didn't he?"

Edgar shrugged nonchalantly. "My father tells me everything." His brown eyes sharpened. "And if you're going to ask me to talk him out of you doing whatever it is that he told you to do, you can forget it. I won't."

Fabian winced. "He asked me to kill the person I had a crush on to join the Family."

Edgar barely flinched and hummed in agreement. "He does that, yes. He must think you have potential — this isn't something he asks of everyone, you know. You should be proud."

Fabian let out a strangled sound. "Right. And I am, trust me, but there's just one little problem with that — I _can't_ kill the person I have a crush on."

Edgar looked disappointed. "Don't tell me you're having an attack of _morals_ ," he said, sneering around the last word like it was dirty.

"I wish," Fabian retorted in a hiss, glaring. "No, I _can't_ kill the person I have a crush on because then your father would kill me."

He blinked, realized what he had just said, and promptly flushed red.

Edgar stared at him in confusion. "What do you mean, my father would kill you? You'd just be doing what he wants you to."

Fabian rose an eyebrow pointedly and waited. Suddenly, Edgar's eyes widened.

"Oh," he said, voice strangled. "Oh, yes, I see how that would be a problem." His cheeks turned pink and chuckled nervously. "I'm sure my father would rather you didn't obey him, just this one time. I'll, err, I'll tell him, and we'll figure out something else you can do for us. You do still need to prove you want to join the Family, after all."

Edgar was oddly attractive as he nervously babbled, and Fabian's heart skipped a beat in his chest.

"Well, there's always marriage," he half-joked, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. Internally, he was screaming at himself though — it was like all sanity had abandoned him.

Edgar's pink blush deepened, turning red. "Somehow, I don't think my father will go for that either," he said dryly. But maybe…"

Fabian's heart fluttered madly in his chest. "Maybe?"

"Well, we could try going on a date first. I hear those usually come before marriage proposals."

This was a dream — Fabian was currently in bed, sleeping. This was the only explanation in which this situation made any sense.

"Yes," he blurted out before he could convince himself to wait or some other stupid idea. "Yes, we should do that. Go out on a date."

 _.coda (two years later)._

The reception had been lovely, but now Fabian was exhausted; Who knew weddings were so tiring?

He was nursing his drink — coffee, because he desperately needed the caffeine to stay awake — quietly when Edgar stopped by his head, his head coming to rest on his shoulder with a soft humming sound.

Wordlessly, Fabian offered his cup, but Edgar shook his head. His arm snaked around Fabian's waist and he pulled himself closer, chuckling when Fabian almost stumbled.

"You're terrible," Fabian said in a huff.

"You love it."

They stayed silent for a few moments, staring at the dancers.

"Your sister looks happy," Edgar noted.

Not taking his eyes of the newlywed couple on the dancefloor, Fabian hummed his agreement.

"We should be next."

This time Fabian really did stumble, some of his coffee sloshing over the cup on onto his hands. He cursed under his breath as he looked around for a tissue, nodding thankfully at Edgar when his boyfriend just handed him one.

"Are…" he said, keeping his eyes firmly on the paper napkin to avoid looking into Edgar's eyes, "Are you serious?"

He didn't have to look to know that Edgar was smirking during his next response. "Well, you did propose to me two years ago. I figure it was time I finally gave you my answer."


	28. a new empire

Written for Hogwarts' Meet Cute Marathon: A has been standing in line at the bank for what feels like a century. S/he has a long list of things to do today, and just needed to pop in real quick to the bank, but the teller is taking forever. Unfortunately for A, just as it's A's turn, there's a startled scream as someone yells, "Everybody down! This is a bank robbery!" A feels someone, B, wrap an arm around his/her waist and points a gun to his/her head. A has become B's hostage. Well, maybe A won't have time for laundry today after all.

Also for the Serpent Day Event: Eastern diamondback rattlesnake- (AU) Bonnie and Clyde, Play More Cards Event: Cheat - write about deception, the Insane House Challenge: Title - A New Empire, the 365 Prompts Challenge: Quote - "When you realize you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible." - Nora Ephron, Wizarding Geography Assignment: Task #2: write about joining forces.

 _Word count:_ 1096

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 **a new empire**

For the fifth time in the last five minutes, Edgar sighed and checked his watch. He cast an annoyed look at the bank teller, who seemed awfully chatty today — and then chastised himself for the uncharitable thought. Surely the woman was merely trying to help her client.

But still, this was only the first stop in a long, long day, and Edgar couldn't stay here forever.

He was considering whether to just head back and come back later in the day — maybe while his laundry dried. The washing program should be just about finished now.

He had only taken the first step toward the exit when a grinning red-headed man blocked his way. Edgar barely had time to register his physique before he felt something hard and cold press against the small of his back.

Hot breath tickled his ear, making him shiver. "Don't move," the man whispered. "I'd hate for this to get messy."

Edgar froze. He started to raise his hands but the man tutted. "Aw, don't do that. Come on, work with me here — I'm trying to play nice. I'm just here for the money, same as everyone else. There's really no need for this to turn… violent."

"You have a gun at my back," he hissed, trying to keep his heart from racing its way out of his chest. "I don't see how that's playing nice."

"Oh, feisty! I like it!" The man laughed. He shifted to stand beside Edgar instead of behind him, sliding an arm around his shoulders and leaning close. The gun was now pressed against his side.

Absently, Edgar wondered how long it'd take him to bleed out if he got hit there.

"I'm Fabian," the would-be robber said. "And you are?"

Edgar considered not replying but the gun pressed deeper into his side. "Edgar," he said, mumbling.

"It's very nice to meet you, Edgar," Fabian said. With their new positions, Edgar could clearly see the way his smile, mischievous with just a hint of wildness, made him look even more handsome than he'd first thought.

"Likewise," he lied, pasting on his fakest smile.

The file moved and they stepped forward. One more person and it would be his — their — turn.

It figured things would finally get moving the instant Edgar found himself threatened by a bank robber.

"Now, when this nice lady calls for us, you'll ask her for the money. All of it."

Edgar raised an eyebrow questioningly. "Why don't you do it yourself?"

The gun jostled against his side, Fabian's smile still frighteningly bright, and Edgar sighed. "I see. Fine. What else should I do?"

Fabian grinned as he explained his plan in a quiet whisper.

And Edgar knew he shouldn't be, but he was impressed. It was clever and daring — but more importantly, Fabian's plan, with him as a hostage, might just work.

He thought about his laundry, waiting for him — about the empty apartment he had to head back to — and he realized he didn't want to go back home.

Fabian may be a criminal — may be holding a gun at his side, but Edgar felt more alive than he'd felt in… years, possibly.

And it might be stupid — it certainly was dangerous, and illegal — but Edgar just wanted to keep feeling that way.

So, pointedly, he relaxed.

Fabian shot him a surprised look. Edgar liked to believe it was also a little bit pleased.

Edgar started to open his mouth — to say what, he didn't really know — when the file moved and it was finally their turn.

Fabian's hand squeezed his shoulder once and they stepped forward. Heart racing, Edgar took his chance and said, "I'll help you. You don't need the gun."

Fabian smiled and shook his head a little. A few strands of red hair fell in front of his eyes and he blew them away with an annoyed sigh.

"You'll have to forgive me if I don't believe you just yet," he said dryly.

Edgar shrugged. "Of course."

They stepped up to the teller and Edgar gave the woman his best grin. "Hi."

His excitement must have been very obvious, because the woman looked taken aback as she replied, "Hello. How can I help you today?"

Edgar's grin got wider, hands shaking from adrenaline. "You can give us all of your money," he said, still grinning.

When the woman only started to frown, he leaned forward. "This is a robbery, alright. Ah," he added, shaking his head as he noticed her hand slip underneath her desk, "I wouldn't do that if I were you." And he shifted, just long enough for her to get a good sight of the gun Fabian was holding.

Her hand withdrew, and at Fabian's urgent prompting, she started to bag up the money.

They left ten minutes later, running as an alarm rang after them.

They stopped, out of breath, when a black van pulled up in front of them, its tires screeching against the asphalt. The door slipped open, revealing a face that was strikingly familiar.

Before Edgar could do more than freeze, Fabian laughed and pulled him in. "This is my brother Gideon," he said as Gideon pulled the door close and dove back in the front seat. He took off so quickly that Edgar fell to his knees before he could sit.

"I didn't think we were taking hostages," Gideon stated dryly from his seat. He looked back at them, eyebrow raised at his brother. "What happened, the money wasn't good enough for you?"

Fabian laughed. "Gideon, this is Edgar. He helped me get the money."

"He helped you?" Gideon's incredulity was obvious in his voice, but after a moment studying Edgar's face, he snorted. "Figures," he said, and that seemed to be the end of it.

Edgar bristled and opened his mouth to retort, but Fabian tangled their fingers together, holding up their joined hands, just a little, and Edgar lost his train of thought again.

Fabian had very lovely hands for a criminal, he noticed.

"Thank you," he said, his thumb tracing slow circles against Edgar's skin, making him shiver.

"You're welcome," he replied. His voice stuck in his throat oddly, and he almost didn't manage to get the words out.

Fabian's eyes dropped to his lips and Edgar's heart stuttered.

The van hit a rough bump on the road and the moment was broken, but Edgar was left with the impossibly warm thought that there would be others.

(And there were.)


End file.
